


The Fan

by Vulpes86



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Book: Career of Evil, Eventual Fluff, F/M, I'm not british forgive me, New case, Post CoE the book, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpes86/pseuds/Vulpes86
Summary: Post Career of Evil - THE BOOK, not the show (havent seen it yet, waiting patiently). Picks up where it left off. New case for our dynamic detective duo.Strike starts getting fan mail that cannot be ignored. Strike and Robin are thrust together to keep each other safe as they hunt down the mysterious sender of letters and criminals, The Fan.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so a few things, I have never written a multi chapter story before, so fingers crossed I can get through this. Also, I am not british so forgive me for my painfully american writing. Please give feedback and any thoughts as to where this should go!

_Dear Cormoran,  
I hope you don’t mind me calling you Cormoran, I just feel like I know you so well that Mr. Strike seems just too formal for us. You see I have been following you for quite some time now, I am truly captivated by your story. I think we are destined to be together. I shall be - _

“Morning,” Strike said as he hung his coat up inside the main door. “What are you reading?” He nodded at the handwritten letter in Robin’s possession. 

“Oh just another letter for the nutter drawer,” she sighed. She dramatically held the letter up, placing one hand over her heart as she read breathlessly, “Dear Cormoran, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Cormoran!” 

Strike chuckled as he made his way to the small kitchenette to start the tea. He was glad that Robin had finally embraced the “nutter drawer” for all its glory. She had been more vigilant after the Lanig case, but they still got so many admirers it was hard not go have a good laugh every once in a while. 

“I think we are destined to be together!” She turned and dropped the letter into the bottom of the filing cabinet. “Sorry too sickenly sweet to go on! Away with you!” She pushed the drawer shut with her foot. 

Somewhere in the back of Strikes mind he agreed with that statement coming from Robin, but knowing that she was just reading the ramblings of another obsessed fan he quickly stowed the thought away for later. 

“You’ve got an appointment with Mrs Edwards at 10:30, and I will be tailing Track Pants Two this afternoon.” Robin noted as she pulled up their calendar on the computer.

“Right.” Cormoran made their tea, placing a cup in front of Robin who smiled pleasantly as thanks. “How’s the apartment search going?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed into her tea. “Well if someone wasn’t so picky about the neighborhood or street that I lived on I’m sure I’d have found one by now,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. 

He put his hands up defensively. “Listen, I know that you can take care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you should have to karate chop and mace your way home every night.” His eyes lingered on her forearm. The scar was covered by her jumper, but he knew how it looked and how it made his heart wrench in knots every time he saw it. 

Robin was still living in the flat she had shared with Matthew, which he had since vacated. Surprisingly _he_ had left _her_ at the altar. After Strike had unceremoniously let his presence known, Sarah Shadlock had stood up shouting that this was proof that Strike and Robin had been having an affair and that she and Matthew could finally run away together, guilt free. The speed at which Matthew had taken her up on the offer was the only wound Robin’s ego had suffered. After all the begging and pleading, Robin had gone back to him, only to be stood up on their wedding day. 

Due to the surprising guilt Matthew had felt about the whole ordeal, and the fact that Robin handled the situation with such grace, Matthew had agreed to move out (to be with she-who-shall-not-be-named) and covered the rent in the flat for two months until Robin could find a place of her own. 

It was Strike who was being overly picky about her new abode. No place was in the right neighborhood, no building secure enough to get his blessing. Once, Robin had finally thought she had found a place, only to find out that Strike had done surveillance that night and photographed drug deals on the corner. 

“Perhaps you can rent me your cot and I can just sleep in the office!” 

“I’m not paying you overtime.” He shot back, smiling. He was still amazed at how unphased she was by the whole situation. “I’d offer you a room in my flat, but obviously I’ve only got one room, for the entire flat.”

Strike thought he saw the slightest blush creep across her face at the thought of cohabitating with him. “I’m sure I’ll find something. Any of your exes looking for a flatmate?”

This time it was Strike who blushed at the mention of his previous conquests. Images of Robin and Elin talking about their sex life manifested in his mind; Charlotte brining a bottle of wine and glasses from the kitchen to join the conversation. He shuddered. 

“We’ll find something,” he grumbled. 

She smiled at the thought of _we_ and how close she had been to losing it. She went back to checking her emails and Strike sat silently sipping his tea on the couch. How content they both were, finally.

This particular Wednesday and come and gone uneventfully: Robin got the incriminating photos of Track Suit Two trying to solicit young teen girls into his van; Strike booked another wealthy trophy wife with eyes on alimony. They met up at the end of the day to review a few cases and plans for tomorrow and bid each other good night. Robin made her way back to her empty flat across town and Strike ambled up the steps to his. 

While Robin slept peacefully, dreaming of another rewarding days work with Strike tomorrow, he lay awake in bed, thinking about the note Robin had started to read. At first he had simply conjured the image of Robin saying _We were destined to be together_ to him… Her soft pink lips, her golden hair blowing gracefully in an unseen breeze. But soon an uneasy feeling settled over him, he wasn’t sure why, but he had lurking feeling in his gut that he needed to read the rest of the letter. He sighed as he had already taken off his prosthesis. Tomorrow. He rolled over, hugged the pillow and quickly drifted off to sleep.


	2. What a Mess That Would Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets soaked, both of them blush, and we find out what the rest of The Letter from The Fan says...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has some completely unnecessary innocent fluff, but I couldn't help myself. I love it when two characters are thinking the same exact thing, but don't tell the other. We are gonna slow burn this one. 
> 
> Also they have a client that they nicknamed "Margaret Thatcher," I'm picturing an older pushy lady that wont take no for an answer, or anything less than the results that she wants.
> 
> I have the first 3.5 chapters written, but things are probably going to slow down posting-wise for the next week or two. I'll do my best to keep it moving. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys and please leave comments!

The next morning Strike had every intention of going down stairs to retrieve the letter from the nutter drawer to see what the rest of it had said, unfortunately he was interrupted by a very damp looking Robin.

“You look like a drown cat,” Strike said as he got a good look at her on his way to the kitchenette. She was obviously in the need of a warm cup of tea despite it being July. 

“Ugh,” she shook her self slightly and water droplets dripped off her onto the flood. “My umbrella got blown inside out and was completely useless. It was too warm for a jacket, so now I’m just soaked through! I don’t even have my hold-all here with extra clothes like I usually do!” She stared at Strike through wet strands of hair with a look of giving up.

Cormoran tried to smile at her as he handed her some tea. “I, um, uh.” He wasn’t sure it was the best idea to invite her upstairs to get undressed in his flat, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. “I have some clothes you can change into while your clothes dry. You can do your work in the office until you’re, uh, presentable again?”

Robin snorted. “What this isn’t presentable?” she smiled slyly at Strike. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. If he had even hinted that Charlotte was not the most beautiful creature to grace the planet he would have had a potted plant hurled at his head. He was always pleasantly surprised by Robin in so many ways.

“Just go into the office, I’ll bring you a shirt and some pants or something.” He wasn’t really sure he had a bottom that would fit her. “And a towel, just try not to drip on any evidence.”

“I’ll do my best,” she turned and headed into the office with her tea. 

Strike slowly climbed the stairs and entered his flat, scooping up a clean towel and shirt, trying to find something from his more fit days. A pair of old gym shorts were found in the back of a drawer, and at least they had a drawstring. 

When Strike re-entered the outer office his door was shut, She wouldn’t have, she couldn’t be, _just knock on the door you idiot_. His knuckles met the frosted glass that separated the two working spaces. The door opened slightly and a long slender arm popped out. “Sorry I just had to get out of these clothes, anything will do.” He silently placed the clothing and towel in her hand, eyes wide with shock. “Thank you!” She sang through the door. 

Don’t even go there. He thought to himself. He would have done the same for Nick, or Hardacre or Shanker… well probably not Shanker, he would never get the clothes back. 

Robin had already removed her blouse, skirt and heels by the time Strike had returned with a change of clothes. She knew it was risky, but after the morning she had had she was up for it, knowing it would fluster him somewhat. She hugged the clothing to herself before getting dressed, they smelled of Strike, however, slightly less smokey. She slipped on the shirt and shorts and did her hair up in the towel. She knew she would have to leave the privacy of the office momentarily to hang up her clothes and to fix her hair and makeup in the small bathroom. She inhaled his scent once more, savoring it, before she gathered up her clothing to face Strike. She felt more self-conscious covered in large swaths of cloth than she did in the revealing Vashti dress she had modeled for him all those years ago. 

Strike stood in the outer office, not sure what to do with himself, he sipped his tea and avoided looking at the inner office door at all cost, not wanting to risk catching her silhouette as she changed, feeling as if lines would be crossed. He could hear her puttering around and finally the door slowly opened. His eyes slid to hers as she came out of the office, a slight blush creeping across her face. 

“I’m, uh, just going to go hang these up in the bathroom, and then I will go back and hide in the office until this is all fixed,” she said as she made a sweeping motion indicating her whole self. 

Strike let out a small chuckle, which he quickly hid in his tea, not sure if it was appropriate to be laughing at her expense. 

“It’s alright,” as if she read his mind. “You can laugh, I’d be laughing at you if you showed up at my flat, soaked to the bone and I tried to squeeze you in to one of my jumpers!”

He snorted into his tea. That would be a sight. Showing up at her flat…

Robin ducked by him into the loo. She quickly shut the door behind her, and stared aghast into the mirror. She moaned, _this is worse than I thought!_ She really did look like a drowned kitten. Or a racoon - her mascara had pooled under her eyes, giving her a woodland creature or late night partier vibe. She sighed once more and got to work. She towel dried her hair, again enjoying the waves of Cormoran’s scent that came her way. She washed her face, now clear of makeup she looked at her too blond lashes and brows, seemingly disappearing on her face, but now her freckles were visible, more noticeable from the summer sun. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, twisted it up and around, securing it in a loose bun on the top of her head with a hair elastic she found in her purse. 

She peered once again in the mirror. The large white t-shirt hung on her like a tent, and she had to roll the shorts at the waist to get them to even hang on her hips. Thoughts of waking up in this outfit, padding around Cormoran’s flat, making tea… Stop it, she told herself. _You are just fresh out of not getting married, and he is your business partner! What a mess that would be!_ She buried her blushing face in her hands, shaking her head trying to rid herself of such thoughts. _It’s just a school-girl crush!_ He was the only friend she had in London and a single male, that she got on well with, that she trusted, and looked up to. Bollocks. She needed this day to be over with so she could begin to start putting some distance between them, it was the only way. However, as of right now, that would be difficult seeing as she was wearing his clothes. She took on last look at herself, messy hair, no makeup, Strike’s baggy clothes, took a deep breath and headed back to the office. 

“Slightly better than a drowned cat, but still likely not work ready,” she announced as she walked through the door. Strike looked up from his notes, that he had moved from his desk to hers. His eyes drifted slightly down her body, taking in the whole picture. “Hmm,” he grunted before returning to his work, doing his best not to let his stare linger. “I’ve moved your work into the office. If you can go about putting together some invoices, I’ll be headed out soon to interview the brother-in-law of Margaret Thatcher. Hopefully you’ll be all dried out by lunch?” His eyes still glued to his work. 

“Right, I’ll get to it then. See you at lunch.” She shut the office door behind her. Time to get to work. 

Strike peered up after the door shut, making sure the coast was clear. He let out a breath and leaned back in his chair, unable to stop the thoughts of waking up next to Robin looking similar to how she just had; maybe just after a morning shower, just after morning… He closed his eyes and cursed himself. This needed to stop. She was just left at the altar by her boyfriend of nine years. And she was his partner. _What a mess that would be._ Strike was sure there were plenty of other young, single, attractive, intelligent, intuitive, understanding-of-his-job-and-work-hours women out there just waiting to be swept of their feet. _Fuck._ He needed this day to be over with so he could start putting more distance between them, it was the only way. But right now, no, right now she was sitting in his office, wearing his clothes, looking fresh and dewy eyed. No, it would have to wait until tomorrow. 

Strike finished up his notes, grabbed his umbrella, shouting a goodbye to Robin through the door and headed out into the rain. 

By the time Strike returned, sandwiches in hand, Robin was back in her own clothes, his folded nicely. She beamed up at him from her desk. “Good as new, well almost, my hair and makeup are still questionable, but I’m hoping this fits your description of ‘presentable.’”

“You look…” _beautiful, breathtaking, lovely._ “Indeed presentable,” he laughed. Robin frowned at him slightly. “What?” he threw his hands up flustered. “You look...nice?” he blushed.

Robin, seeing how exasperated he was getting smiled smugly to herself and turned her attention to the sandwiches. She cleared an area on her desk so they could sit an eat together. “How was brother-in-law Thatcher?” she asked through her first bite.

“Just as relentless as the Iron Lady herself,” Strike took a large bite of his egg sandwich. He eyed the pile of clothes on the end of the couch, wondering if they smelled like her. 

Robin followed his gaze, “I can wash those if you want. The flat still has a washer and dryer, I can bring them back tomorrow.”

“No, no, that’s OK. Got a load to take to the cleaners tomorrow anyways.” They sat in silence for a few moment chewing their sandwiches. Strike swallowed a large bite, “would you hand me that nutter love letter from yesterday? It was bothering me last night, just want to read the rest of it.”

“Sure,” she wiped off her hands and reached into the drawer, handing it to him. He unfolded it, the letter looking much smaller in his hands compared to Robin’s.

_Dear Cormoran,_  
_I hope you don’t mind me calling you Cormoran, I just feel like I know you so well that Mr. Strike seems just too formal for us. You see I have been following you for quite some time now, I am truly captivated by your story. I think we are destined to be together. I shall be excited to watch how your story continues to unfold, you see, we are about to get quite close._  
_I am hoping you will give me a ring sometime soon, say perhaps Thursday, July 28th at 11 am? I’ve listed my contact information below. I do look forward to talking to you! We have so much to learn about each other._  
_I know it may seem like I am rambling, and maybe at this point I am, but please take this seriously, lives are at stake._

_Sincerely yours,_

_The Fan_

“Huh,” he handed the note across the table to Robin who began to re-read the note. Parts were very nutter-ish, but not all criminals were sane, as he and Robin were all too familiar with. “What’d you think?”

“Well it’s past 11 on Thursday, July 28th…” her brows furrowed. “Lives are at stake… I don’t really like it, but hopefully it’s just a bluff. It’s not like you would have called anyways.”

He laughed, “This is true. Just keep that one separate and let me know right away if we get any more letters from ‘The Fan.’” Strike looked at the envelope it came in. It was their full address, addressed to Cormoran B. Strike, but there was no return address. There was a stamp, but no postage mark. “Look at this, did this come with the regular mail?” He pointed out the lack of processing on the front. 

“I believe so, it was in the mail pile at least, didn’t come separately,” she looked up at him, he was frowning heavily. “And, no, it was not hand delivered to me by a helmet wearing carrier.” She sat up straighter. 

“Right.” He was probably thinking too far into it. “I’ll be in my office going over some files.” He got up, collected their trash and threw it away.


	3. Psychology 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When another letter comes with a photograph inside Strike and Robin begin to take The Fan seriously. This time he leaves more detailed instructions as to what he has planned for them. Will this new mystery push them together or pull them apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 3! I am working in bits and pieces when things get slow at work. I have taken quite a few psych classes back when in college for one of my majors, but apparently I graduated 10 years ago this month >_<. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Any comments or feedback is appreciated!!

Robin had long since left, ever vigilant on her way home, texting Strike once she was safely inside and the dead bolt was thrown. Strike didn’t like the idea of her living on her own, but he would be lying to himself if he didnt prefer it to her living with Matthew. 

Strike was headed up to his flat around 8:30 when he found his pack of Benson & Hedges empty. Deciding that he would ultimately regret not buying a pack later, he reversed direction and headed down to the ground floor. He stopped as he came around the last turn of the staircase: there on the floor was a plain white envelope addressed to Cormoran B. Strike. His mouth went dry as he recognized the hand writing, lack of return address and postage markings. 

“Fuck.”

He limped down and picked up the envelope by the corner, checking to see if there were any clues left by the mysterious sender. He could see no smudges, no folds. He brought it up to the office where he still had some fingerprint dust from his days at SIB. He knew that the envelope would be clean, but he figured he had to be certain. 

After making a dusty mess and finding nothing as expected, Strike cut through the top with a letter opener. Before he had viewed the contents he knew that there was more than just a letter inside. What felt like a photograph was folded up into the letter. He thought about dusting the letter for prints, but then thought better, knowing someone that had been this meticulous on the outside would no doubt have been just the same with the letter paper. Likely wore gloves, he thought to himself.

Strike unfolded the letter, again reading Dear Cormoran. However Strike’s eyes immediately fell to the photograph that was inclosed. He stared down in horror and furry as he could see glints of golden hair through window blinds that were twisted slightly open. Robin stood in his office, barely clothed, hair damp. Rain covered the outside of the window, and a few areas of the photograph were blurry, it had still been raining when Robin had changed. Strike ran into his office, throwing open the blinds, trying to figure out where this had been taken from. 

The building across the ally way was more offices, but he knew that the 2nd floor had been vacant. He looked for any signs of occupancy, but all the empty windows were dark. He had the landlords card somewhere, and he would most certainly be contacting them in the morning, Strike had more important matters to tend to immediately. 

He returned to the letter: 

_Dear Cormoran,_   
_I am very disappointed that I did not hear from you today. It was so important that you called! I do realize now that I may have put unrealistic time restraints on you, if you hadn’t read the letter until the next day, you may not have been able to call in time, so I forgive you. We are all human after all._   
_You see the reason I am reaching out to you is that I have a mystery for you to solve. And by you, I mean you AND your partner, Robin. She is so lovely, and you work so well together. I would like to make this clear: she must be involved in helping you solve this case. You cannot push her to the side lines, or try to replace her. I saw that ad you took out in the paper before she got married. Tsk tsk. She is an integral part of your process! You are better with her, and I want you are your VERY best for this. Do not try to sideline her or hide her away. I will find her and you will not like the results._   
_I digress. I need you to look into Mr Thomas O’Malley. I suspect he is hiding something quite sinister. I do expect that you will call me and tell me that you’ve taken the job. I will be a paying customer so don’t think this a fool’s errand._   
_Anyways,_   
_I hope the photograph got your attention and that you know how important this is to me._   
_I hope to hear from you soon. I will give you 48 hours this time._

_Sincerely yours,_

_The Fan._

_P.S. You know the drill about getting the police involved._

As soon as Strike's eyes had finished the last line he was getting into a cab to get to Robin’s as soon as possible, his mobile at his ear. 

“Did I forget something?” Robin asked as she picked up the phone

“Are you at home, Robin?” His voice was strained. 

“I.. yes… I’m at home”

“Don’t leave, don’t open the door for anyone but me. I am on my way.” 

“I… but…”

“DON’T. LEAVE.” he roared into the phone

“Ok,” she said slightly taken aback. She felt like a scolded school child, but she had no idea what she had done wrong. 

She sat in her kitchen with her phone in her hand, as if he would call with further instructions, or at least an explanation. After a few moments she looked down and realized that her night time attire probably wasn't work friendly and threw on an oversized jumper, her pajama shorts just poking through the bottom.

She looked at the time. Guessing that Strike would be there soon she set about getting the kettle on and some tea made so that it would be ready by the time he got there. His took a little longer to get to the creosote color that he preferred. 

Robin was just removing the tea bags when she heard a pounding knock at the door. “Robin it’s me!” She heard muffled through the front door, down the front hallway. 

She smiled to herself, straightened her messy bun, and padded down the hallway. She lined her eye up with the peep hole just to make sure, be for turning the deadbolt, unlocking the door handle and removing the chain to let Strike in. His massive figure took up most of the door frame as she stood aside to let him past. Robin couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes, something wild and something that looked like fear. She quickly shut the door behind them, replacing all the security measures she had removed to let him in. 

“Is everything alright?” She turned to find him standing staring at her. “Strike?”

He took a step closer and grabbed her upper arms, gently but firmly. She stared back at him with worry and a frown. 

“You’re OK. You’re OK.” He said more to himself that to Robin. He hung his head and let his hands slide down her arms, and let go of her. He let out a huge breath he had been holding. 

Robin was getting impatient. It wasn’t like Strike to keep her in the dark this long, obviously something serious had happened…”Did you get another letter?” She asked quietly. She could tell by the heavy look in his eyes that the answer was yes, and that it wasn’t good. “Come sit, I made tea.” She motioned to the kitchen.

Strike stopped at the kitchen entrance, glancing around the room. The small table was still crammed in the corner, but no dirty dishes lingered in the skin. A new calendar hung on the wall ONE MONTH TILL MOVE OUT written at the end of the July. “The last time I was here…” Strike trailed off. 

“You fired me.” She looked at him knowingly. “That was the second worst day of my life.” She quickly looked away to examine her tea. 

Strike was still standing, staring down at her through lidded eyes. He felt wave after wave of sorrow hit him. Sorry that he had hurt her so much that day, sorry he felt he had to, sorry he felt like he had to protect her, sorry that he wasn’t able to, sorry that she had been the prey of a serial killer, sorry she had been left at the altar, sorry she had to find a new place to live, sorry she had ever met him, and sorry he wasn’t sorry about a few of those. He knew she didn’t want him to feel that way, and he was sorry for that too. 

She could see it in his eyes, “Well that doesn’t matter, we are back together,” she forced a smile, it was over, but it was still painful when she thought about it. “What have you got then?”

Strike pulled the envelope out of his overcoat and handed it to her, sitting down as she pulled the letter - and photo - out. Her hand shot up to her mouth to cover a gasp as she realized she was the subject of the photo inclosed. 

“This is just from this morning!” She examined the photo more closely, “Taken from somewhere across the alley… but I thought you told me the 2nd floor was unoccupied?”

“I did. I am going to call the landlord first thing in the morning.”

Blush suddenly started to creep across her face as she continued to stare at the photo and realize that it wasn’t just a photo of her, but a photo of her in her skivies. Luckily she had full coverage bra and panties on earlier that day, _and thank God not the grannie panties either._ “Well at least I don’t look half bad in the photo…” Strike’s dark humor was starting to rub off on her. 

Strike stared at her in shock before letting out a belly laugh. “Yes, a very flattering picture taken by your new stalker. Should make it your profile picture.”

Robin had moved on to the letter, reading it and rereading it. She ran her hand over the letters, the handwriting was beautiful but appeared masculine. “Seems rather histrionic or narcissistic… Those with histrionic personality disorder have to be the center of attention, they thrive on people liking them, they need recognition and validation and every turn. They can form unhealthy bonds with people, either very positive - that person can do no wrong, and very negative - everything that person does is terrible and malicious. Those who are narcissistic ‘know’ they are the center of attention, they don’t need validation because they ‘know’ it to be true that they are best and the greatest. They do get upset when people don’t seem to see it that way, like returning calls at an unreasonable time or seeing attention from him as flattering… psychology 101, Cormoran.” She winked at him. 

He always was impressed at her knowledge base, thinks about where she would be if she finished university, and selfishly was happy that he had her here with him. “So a certifiable nutter.” 

Robin frowned at him, seemed less kind when they were dealing with someone that truly had a diagnosable medical condition, but that didn’t change that the man sending them letters seemed to be the dangerous sort. “So what are we going to do about this?”

“Well for one, you’re not staying here by yourself. Do you have a friend you can stay with or can come stay with you?” He watched a mischievous gleam creep into her eyes.

“Sorry to say, Cormoran, you appear to be the only friend I have in London. So my flat or yours?” She smiled at him, know that he couldn’t refuse, and that this would make him much more uncomfortable that her. “You’re already here so you might as well stay. Partners AND roomies! How fun.”

Strike grumbled to himself, but knew that he wouldn’t leave her if she had no one else to keep an eye on her. 

“Don’t worry the couch is a sleeper.” She wasn’t sure why she was so giddy at the prospect of him spending the night at her flat. Maybe it was that she was just lonely, or could anticipate the drama if Matthew showed up, or she just genuinely liked spending time with Strike and if she was honest with herself, she was always a little disappointed when the day was through and she had to leave his side. “Alright, now that we have established sleeping arrangements, what are we going to do about this creeper? Are we going to play his game and look into this fellow?”

“Well, I’d prefer to take this to Wardle, but thanks to his postscript we don’t have that option currently, we don’t know what kind of surveillance he’s got on us. I suppose a quick google search and a phone call is in order. See what we are getting ourselves into. Maybe is just an elaborate way to get us on a cheating spouse case?” Strike muttered, knowing this was highly unlikely. 

Robin agreed that this could not be overlooked and that they shouldn’t go to Wardle just yet. She went to her room to fetch her laptop as Strike stretched his legs out under the small table, his size fourteen shoes bumping Robin’s vacant chair. Somehow he was even too big for a regular sized flat. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his stubbled face. What had they gotten themselves into this time? As much as Strike enjoyed having a successful and profitable business, he had never had this much trouble before he had started working with Robin. 

She returned with her laptop already powered on, set the computer down in front of Strike and pulled her chair around the table next to him so they could both see the screen. She smiled at him before typing in the the name “Thomas O’Malley.” 

_Worth it._

There were twenty-one Thomas O’Malleys that Robin could find. Six of them were listed as living by themselves, at least according to her internet finds. Three of the six hadn’t registered since the early aughts, making them less likely as well. So that left three single Thomas O’Malleys. While they both agreed it could easily be a married man who was acting sinister, they both felt it was likely not. Even then, three was two too many. 

“I suppose we will have to call The Fan and ask which Thomas O’Malley he wants us to look into,” Robin sighed as she shut her laptop. It was getting late and they did still have work tomorrow. 

“I suppose you’re right, no sense in wasting energy on two or three or twenty one O’Malleys.” Strike hid a large yawn behind an even larger hand. “Right, we will pick up on this in the AM. Decide when we want to call, what we want to ask and discuss.”

Robin nodded, “Are you sure you need to stay here? I appreciate it and all, and since it’s a bit of a journey back to your flat you are more than welcome to stay, I just don’t want to inconvenience you if you need to go back home.” She was still sitting close to him, staring, looking for answers to questions she didn’t ask. 

Strike sat in thought for a moment, not saying anything. One hand was on the table, the other draped over the back of Robin’s chair. He should go. He should stay. She can probably protect herself. If anything happened to her he would blame himself forever. He’s overreacting. He’s thinking about this too much. 

Robin could see the internal battle raging in his mind. He wanted to keep her safe, he didn’t want to impose. He would be much more comfortable in his own flat, but would sleep much better here. She made the choice for him, “I’m sure you are tired. Just crash here, we can walk to work together in the morning.” She smiled genuinely as she stood to fetch the linens for the pull-out.

Strike was thankful Robin had seen his struggle and handled it for him. He stood and stretched as he went into the living room. He noticed there were no photographs in the room, several books were missing from the shelves, the TV was gone. Robin returned with an arm full of linens. She set them down on the arm chair. 

“Help me, will you?” She motioned to the couch. They pulled of the pillows and cushions, unfolded the mattress and set about putting the sheets on. 

“I can get the rest,” mumbled Strike as Robin began to lay out the flat sheet and pillow cases. 

“Nonsense, let’s just get this taken care of. Hand me that pillow?” Here she was doing the most domestic task she could possibly think of with her boss. She smiled at him, wondering what he was thinking. 

_Don’t think of anything. Stop, you stupid fucker. You are here because there is a lunatic taking photographs of your PARTNER naked. Half naked. STOP THINKING OF YOUR PARTNER NAKED._ Strike was very glad that Robin could not read minds. 

“The bath is just down the hall, and here are some clean towels so you can freshen up, and I’m just off here.” Of course her room was off the living room, Cormoran’s eyes rolled internally. “Well I’m off to bed, let me know if there is anything you need.” Robin started for her room, but paused at the doorway. “Good night, Cormoran.”

“Good night, Robin.” He smiled at her, she was still standing in her doorway, half turned towards him. He started to gather up his towel to head to the bathroom.

She shook her head and turned to face him fully, “Cormoran.” He stopped in his tracks, his heart beat skipping along. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She smiled, “For coming to me with this. I feel like you could have easily kept this hidden from me, tried to keep me on safe tasks, leading me down dead ends again. I appreciate that you came straight over and showed me. I know you worry about me like a big brother would, and I know this work can be dangerous, but I love it, and I love doing it with you. I have never been so happy, content and fulfilled...I...sorry, rambling… good night.” Robin quickly turned into her room and shut the door, but not before Strike saw the glowing blush on her cheeks.

So much for keeping their distance.


	4. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike wake up the next morning and get a surprise visit from someone unexpected!!

Both slept soundly knowing the other was just a few feet away, but when they woke in the morning, both had too many thoughts going through their heads that they had not wanted to deal with last night. 

_Like a big brother? A Brother?_ What had she been thinking?? She definitely did not think of him as a big brother. No, no, no. How could she have said that. Ugh. Then again, maybe he did see her like a little sister, he did treat her like a child sometimes. Robin pouted. That was not the message she had wanted to get across to him last night. She did mean the rest of it, though. She knew there were dangers, she had gotten in car accidents, been cut and nearly kidnapped, been sent a leg and a toe, gotten into fist fights, but real life was dangerous too, hadn’t she learned that in college when walking through a stairwell in her dorm changed everything? Didn’t Strike get that? She also meant it when she said she loved her job, loved doing it with him and that she had never been happier. She was doing more or less what she had wanted to do as a child, and doing it with someone that supported her; she had never had that before and it meant everything to her.

She hoped he enjoyed working with her too, she suspected he did, but he was a man of few words. She put the pieces together, probably for the five hundredth time, making sure everything fit and she hadn’t put a piece out of place: he had taken time and energy to train her, money too. He could have easily just kept her on as a secretary or not at all. He bought her that dress, took care of her in her drunken mess, drove all the way to Marsham to be at the wedding, then asked her to come back.

### 

“Robin.” Strike had been standing at the edge of the graveyard smoking after the wedding had come to an abrupt halt. Somehow she had managed to escape the madness that ensued after Matthew had left her standing in shock. He had not been hard to find as she had watched him, a head above everyone else, leave the church in search of a place to smoke. 

“Cormoran.” She stood in front of him, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. “You came.”

“Yes, I know in the message I left I said I would leave you be, but since I was invited…” he trailed off, still unsure what he had hoped to achieve by coming to her wedding. 

“What message?” She genuinely looked confused. 

“I, uh, called you twice, left a message the second time. Would have been the day you were driving up here I think. Asked you to come back, told you I was sorry.” Strike took a long drag on his cigarette and held it in until it burned. 

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it…” Tear started streaming down Robin’s face. She had been dealing with too many emotions the last two weeks. Strike took a step forward, letting Robin know it was ok, and she dove into him, burning her face in his shirt. He wrapped an arm around her, and held her close as her shoulders shook. He rested his head on top of hers, letting her get it all out. He knew he was as much to blame for this as Matthew, maybe more. 

“I’m sorry Robin.”

“Thank you,” She finally mustered after a few more moments of silent sobs. “You saved me, thank you.”

He had looked at her quizzically. “I just offered you back the job you should have never lost…”

She smiled at him and held his face in her hands. “You saved me today.” She kissed him on the cheek, but close enough to his mouth that the corners of their lips touched, “Thank you, I need to get back. Are you going to stay?”

“I think I ought to get back, wouldn’t want the guests getting the wrong idea,” he winked at her. 

“Hmmm, I should probably clear that up.”

“Probably. Take your time coming back, but come back Robin.”

“I will, Cormoran.”

### 

_Like a big brother? A brother?_ He did not think of her as a little sister. He did care about her, immensely, but certainly not like a brother would. Is that how she felt about him? Like he was a big brother? He felt the pull on his heart strings and groin as he thought about what else she said, she loved the job, loved _doing it with him._ He knew that he was older than her by ten years, and sometimes he did act as if she was a child that needs protecting, oh god, he did treat her like a little sister. Fuck. He couldn’t help it, he wanted to keep her safe, she was too important to him. It had taken all of 4 days to realize he couldn’t do this without her, that he absolutely did not _want_ to do this without her and he went rushing off to interrupt her wedding to ask her to come back. Surely she knew that. 

Strike thought a few more moments about the wedding, holding her in his arm, her kiss on the corner of his mouth, _You saved me_. He had been meaning to ask her about that, saved her from what? Suddenly his mind was elsewhere, he really needed to piss. 

Normally if he had been in his flat he would have just hopped to the bathroom or grabbed a crutch if need be, but as he lay on the pullout, surrounded by Robin’s things and Robin’s smell he decided to put his leg and his pants back on. He had slept in just his boxers since he would have to take the tube back to work he didn’t want his pants and shirt looking slept in, hoping he would wake before Robin did. 

He hadn’t heard any movement from her room so he quietly tried to reach for his prosthesis, the bed creaked loudly below him and he froze, hoping he didn't wake her. He decided one quick movement would likely be better than lots of little creaks, so he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed an scooped up the rest of his leg in one fluid motion. He quickly got his leg attached and his pants on. However as he was pulling his pants on over his arse and adjusting them under the pudge of his take away stomach her door opened and a bleary eyed Robin came out yawning. 

She stopped, looked him up and down, seemed pleased and moved on to the kitchen. “Good morning,” She yawned as she walked by. Strike had frozen, his hands still on the waistband of his pants, fly open. 

“Morning,” he managed to get out after she had gone into the kitchen, mugs clinking loudly.

Strike looked down at himself. Unruly hairy chest, belly bulge hanging over his trousers. Looking down farther, missing leg. He cursed himself as he finished buttoning and zipping his pants. He was a fool to think that Robin would be attracted to him. She had been with that chiseled Adonis for nine years, didn’t know anything other than sleek lines and hairless planes. He grabbed his shirt and began buttoning it, his cuffs hanging loose. 

Robin came back in as he finished the 2nd to last button from the top, leaving his collar open. She handed him his cup of coffee and set hers on the side table. As Strike took a sip of his black coffee, Robin reached for his cuff and started rolling his sleeve up. He paused mid sip and stared down at her. Her hair was still in the same messy bun as last night, only messier from having slept in it, small fly aways framed her face in a golden halo. She had no make up on and she looked beautiful. 

“It’s going to be a hot one today, muggy from all that rain yesterday.” She looked up and smiled brightly at him. Her fingers were still resting on arm as he slowly lowered his mug. She took it from him, setting it next to hers. She reached for his other cuff and repeated the rolling action, again lingering to fix any small imperfections. She then reached up to straighten his collar, once she was satisfied her hands moved to rest on his chest. Strike stood frozen, unable to stop her as part of his brain screamed at him that this was not a good idea. The rest of him, however, was dying to know what on earth Robin was thinking at that very moment, he would do anything she wanted. 

Robin seemed to be closing the gap between them at painfully small increments, she had no idea what she was doing, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was because it was the morning, and they had work to get to that she felt certain things wouldn’t get carried away, or maybe it was thinking about how he had saved her, or maybe that she wanted to prove, to _show_ him that she didn’t think about him as a brother. “Strike… I…” She had no idea what she was going to say next, and luckily for her she didn’t need to say anything. 

“Robin!” A familiar voice shouted down the hall. “Are you here? The chain is up, can you let me in?”

Robin flew back from Strike like he was a hot iron, a look of sheer panic on her face. “Matthew!” she hissed, furiously, mostly to herself. 

Cormoran smirked, seeing how unhappy she was to see Matthew. He knew it wasn’t nice to feel that way, but it reassured him she was never going back. He also smuggley couldn't wait to see Matthew’s reaction to Strike being at his former flat, with his former fiance. Robin on the other hand looked absolutely frantic.  
She couldn't get the couch put away in time, Cormoran was too massive to hide anywhere. She was just going to have to face the music and hope that Matthew didn’t cause a scene. 

“Um, yes, I’m here.” She called from her spot in the livingroom, not sure what to do with herself. She stood, tucking strands of lose hair behind her ear. “Coming!” She wandered down the hall and undid the chain. Strike could hear their conversation grow louder as they came down the hall.

“Robin, I am so sorry to barge in so early and unannounced, I just can’t find-“ Matthew froze as he turned into the living room. Strike could see the rage forming behind Matthew’s eyes, his jaw clenching, muscles tight in his neck. 

“What is it that you said you were looking for?” Robin asked calmly. 

“Why is he here?” Matthew looked from Robin’s bed head, to Strike’s obviously not fresh clothing, to the pull out, putting it all together in his mind. 

“We have a new case that we were working on until very late. I offered him the pullout. Nothing more, so leave it Matthew, find what you need and go.” Strike could tell Robin was annoyed, but she was fairly good at hiding it. Her voice was calm and sweet towards Matthew, but Strike could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tilt of her head and her speech was just slightly faster than usual. She stared intently at Matthew, who finally realized he was still in no place to judge accepted defeat. 

“Right. Can I check the bedroom? I just need a book.” 

“Go right ahead, I haven’t touched any of your stuff so everything should be where you left it. I do need to get ready so please don’t take too long.”

“Don’t mind me, Robin, you can still…you know what, nevermind. I think I know where I left it.” Matthew ducked into the bedroom as Robin let out a shaky sigh. 

She nodded towards the kitchen, Strike picked up their mugs and followed her out of the living room. “Of all the mornings!” She collapsed into a kitchen chair with a huff. 

Strike wasn’t sure what to say, he was guessing she was upset that someone had yet again assumed they were having an affair when they were in fact not. Strike shrugged and placed her coffee in front of her before sipping on his. 

“Got it!” Matthew came into the kitchen, “I’ll just be leaving now, Robin I hope the apartment search is going well. Strike,” Matthew swallowed, it seemed to cause him physical pain to finish his sentence,”take care of her will you?”

Both Robin and Strike stared dumbfounded at him as he tried to smile at them. 

“She’s pretty damn good of taking care of herself, but I will.” 

Matthew nodded, looked as though he was going to try to hug Robin, then thought better of it and waved goodbye. 

Robin let out a long breath. 

“Well that wasn’t too terrible.” Strike pondered as he continued to sip his coffee and stare down the hall that Matthew had disappeared down.

“I’m so glad I didn’t marry him,” Robin said absent mindedly. Her had flew to her mouth and she stared at Strike once she realized she had said it out loud. “I didnt, I can’t...I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.” She looked down and swirled her barely touched coffee. “I better go get ready. Do you mind waiting for me? If you need to head in early that’s fine, but I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Strike smiled at her. “Oh and Robin?” He asked as she started to leave the kitchen, “Me too.” 

She smiled at she realized that he was also happy she didn’t get married. She knew that Strike didn’t like Matthew as a person, but she also knew that she didn't like them as a couple. He, out of all people, could see how much Matthew held her back, how much he stunted her and kept her happiness at bay. And Strike knew personally how toxic relationships could be, could understand what it was like to have someone so focus on themselves that you became a blurry figure in the background to their lives, used simply as a prop to bolster their own version of their lives. 

No more, Robin was living for her, and what makes her happy. She silently thanked Strike again and hopped in the shower. 

When Robin emerged her hair was down and straight, the barely there make up applied and she looked sharp in her blouse and pencil skirt. Robin peered around, the couch was back to a couch, sheets folded, coffee mugs washed and drying. She frowned as Strike was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he got a call he had to leave for, she hoped he would have at least left a note. 

Robin was in the process of realizing her level of disappointment when a knock came from the front door. Still lost in thought she made her way down the hall and mechanically looked through the peep hole. She saw Strike standing on the other side of the door. “Oh!”

She unlocked the door and shielded her eyes from the morning sun. Strike stood large, morning sun beams dancing around his curly hair, the smell of smoke drifted towards her. 

“Sorry, took out the trash and went out for a smoke,” he walked back into the flat. “Got locked out.” He smiled.

“Oh, I thought you had…. never mind. I’m almost ready, if you are.”

Strike grunted in approval. “I made sure all of your windows were locked and blinds are drawn. I did a quick scope of the neighborhood, really you should only have to worry about what’s right in front of you when you come out, and who’s following behind.”

Strike watched as Robin bent over to put her shoes on, hair falling in her face. Strike let himself stare a few seconds longer, prying he is eyes off her arse before she stood up. She handed him his jacket that he had worn in the cool night air. However the sun was heating up the day quickly so he draped it over his arm as Robin gathered up her purse, restocked hold-all for the office, and keys. “Ready then?” 

“Ready.”

They set off for the tube; Strike taking the hold-all from Robin, not taking no for an answer. It wasn’t heavy at all but, “What will everyone think, Robin, if your juggling two bags and I’ve got none.”

“Since when do you care what anyone else thinks?” she asked suspiciously as she handed over the bag.

Strike shrugged at her and threw the bag over his shoulder. “Just shut it and let me be a gentleman.” A smirk crept across his face as Robin rolled her eyes. They were both enjoying the early morning banter, something, they both thought to themselves, they really could, but shouldn’t, get used to. 

Once they were on the tube and were able to find some space to themselves, they started to talk business. 

“I didn’t notice anyone following us,” Robin said as she peered about the carriage through the window reflection. “You?”

“No.” Strike seemed to be staring intently at her, but really was focused just off to the side, memorizing the fellow passengers incase they were to see any of them again.

“So we make the call this morning? Get started on things?” She asked quietly. Strike nodded. “What are you going to ask him?”

Strike felt like this might be a good learning opportunity for Robin and bounced the question back at her. At first she seemed a little surprised, but quickly caught on to what he was doing. She smiled, always loving when he allowed her to stretch her mind and didn’t just give her the answers. Usually she had a nugget or two that would prove helpful anyways. 

“Well, I would try to get as much information about himself as possible. He wants attention, so lay it on thick. We got your letter, so sorry we didn’t return your call right away, we apologize, etc. How long has he been following you for - since college, since the army, since SIB, since me, it will give us a better pool of suspects, know where to focus our attention. Maybe talk about the weather… it poured here yesterday, if it didn’t rain where he was we can eliminate London as his current location. We could even ask him to simply ‘tell us more’ about him, there is a small but possible chance he’d bite, if he wants to brag, and even if it’s minor, may be enough detail to point us in the right direction.” Robin took a breath to see how she was getting on. 

Strike smiled, pleased with her line of inquiry, also that she, herself, was a defining moment in his life, “Very good, what else.”

Robin glowed under the praise and continued, “We ask about the investigation, who is this man, where does he live, what is it that he suspects he did. Most importantly, how does he know this man? School, work, neighborhood? Why he wants us to look in to him: jealousy, revenge, profit?” Robin paused, thinking. “We obviously have to agree to take the case, so we say will draw up an invoice, where should we send it? Would he like to come and pick it up personally or drop it some place for him? Obviously he will say no, but it can’t hurt to ask. Finally when all is said and done, we flat out ask him who he is. We will already has as much information that he is willing to give, and worst case he hangs up on us.” Robin nodded, happy with herself, looking to Strike for approval. 

“Excellent, Robin, you are a quick study.” 

She beamed back at him, and he smiled warmly at her. They had made it to their stop and exited the train with four other passengers: small older woman with a severely hunched back, a young slender man so preoccupied in his phone and music he nearly walked into the door, a businessman desperately trying to get a signal as soon as he could, and a middle aged woman with brown messy hair. Their faces and directions catalogued in Strikes brain for future reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly non-case related, but we gotta have some character/relationship development.  
> Also the break in the chapter is suppose to show they are both thinking about the wedding at the same time... hopefully that make sense....anywho....  
> Hope you enjoyed the surprise visitor!
> 
> Comments and critiques are appreciated!!


	5. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin make it back to work to finally call The Fan and get more information. They are in for more than a few surprises as The Fan lays out his plan for the detectives. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t know anything about London or England. I’ve been to Ireland, Germany, Austria, Spain, France and Italy... but not England so please if I’ve made any errors or something just seems silly, let me know and I’ll fix it. I just looked up expensive restaurants and locations hoping they fit in ok. There are more notes at the end of the chapter as well.

They entered the door off Denmark Street and began the climb up the precarious metal staircase, Robin going first, as to not be slowed down by Strikes slow climb, not that he minded the view. 

“Oh!” Robin exclaimed as she rounded the last turn. She had stopped so suddenly that Strike collided with her, nearly throwing them both off balance. Luckily Strike had such a grip on the railing that when Robin began to fall back into him she merely bounced off his broad chest. 

Strike was about to make a comment about Robin and these stairs when he looked passed her and saw what had caused her surprise. A photograph had been taped to their door. Once Robin had regained her balance she bolted up the last few steps to get a closer look as Strike slowly ambled behind. 

It was a photo of Strike entering Robin’s flat last night. The photo was very dark, Strike was only identifiable by his large silhouette in the light cast from Robin’s entry way. Robin stood half behind the door, hair in a messy bun, large jumper on, as she was letting him pass. 

“This is from last night!” She exclaimed. “How did he know you would be there?” 

Strike ripped the photo down and turned it over.

_Talk soon?_ Was scrawled on the back in the same beautiful handwriting. 

“Fuck.” Strike looked furious as he fumbled with his keys to get into the office. 

He threw the photo down on Robin’s desk and stood there trying to figure out what to do. While he knew that The Fan probably knew where Robin lived, he knew where Strike worked and lived after all, the fact that he took a photo of it made Strike’s blood boil. What made him more irritated is that he couldn’t send her away some place safe until he figured this out. The Fan wouldn’t let him, and he knew Robin wouldn’t let him either. 

Robin had busied herself getting the tea on for the morning as Strike hobble-paced around the small front office grumbling obscenities to himself. Robin set his tea down in front of him as she watched him grow more and more furious. She knew they couldn’t make the phone call with Strike in this state. She said his name a few times but he was too lost in thought. 

Strike was vaguely aware of Robin getting tea ready then leaning against her desk staring at him. He didn't care right now, he was beyond pissed that this wanker kept following Robin around, taking photos of her. He didn’t care what game this fucker wanted to play, he was crossing lines. How was he going to keep Robin safe, how was he going to sleep at night knowing she was walking the streets alone, sleeping in her flat alone? 

Strike was about to pace the carpet bare when he felt a hand on his arm, he stopped moving, and Robin moved to stand in front of him. Her hand was still resting on his bicep as she looked up into his eyes. The fury in his eyes met a calm gray-blue sea in hers. How could she be so calm?

“Cormoran,” she said firmly. “You can’t let this tosser get to you like this.” She smiled knowingly at him. 

“Robin, this fucker is stalking you and taking pictures of you! And now you’re living by yourself, and-“ he looked down at her, “How the hell are you so calm?”

“Because I know we’ll be able to figure this guy out. I’ve got the great detective, Cormoran B. Strike, on my side. We won’t fail.” She beamed at him. “Besides, he said he wants me to help you, wants you to ‘be at your best,’ so I doubt he is going to do anything to me that is going to affect your work. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” She patted his arm like a child that just finished throwing a tantrum. “Drink your tea.” She handing him his cup and moved back around to her side of the desk. 

Strike stared at her, the hot air slowly escaping him, his shoulders deflating somewhat. He ran a large hand over his stubbled face, that reminded him that he had not spent the night in his own flat. “I’m going upstairs to change, we can call when I get back. Lock this door after me,” he frowned down at her. “Any client can knock.” And with that he turned and left the office, taking his tea with him. 

Robin sighed and locked the door behind him, knowing he would be listening for the thunk of the deadbolt. While she thought it was sweet how much Strike cared, she was growing slightly irritated that he once again thought she was some helpless woman that needed protecting. How many times did she have to prove herself? She had taken self defense classes, which had paid off with Lanig, defensive driving courses, surveillance and countersurveillance courses. She knew she still had a lot to learn about being a detective, but she felt she could at least take care of herself pretty well. She huffed, and decided not to think to hard on it, knowing she would just get more upset when Strike was just being himself; he could be such a worrier sometimes she smiled to herself. 

Robin was nearly done writing down all the questions they were going to ask when  
Strike unlocked the door. He had on a fresh shirt and pants, face shaven and the smell of his after shave slowly drifted to Robin’s desk where she tried to pretend the scent didn’t cause her stomach to drop out. “Feeling better are we?”

Strike grunted and set down his empty tea mug on the kitchen counter. Strike leaned over the skin in the kitchenette, his back to Robin. He took a deep breath and turned around. “I know you know how to take care of yourself, Robin. I just hate that I keep putting you in a position where you have to.” Strike looked truly sad. 

Robin sat in her chair but spun it to face him, hands clasp calmly in her lap. “I know you don’t want anything bad to happen to me, I get it that you worry. But bad things happened to me long before I met you, things that have nothing to do with you or what we do together. I’d rather something happen to me because I’m out catching bad guys with you. You’ve given me a lot of skills to protect myself, and I’ve got my own tricks. You keep me safe every day, Cormoran.” He looked away blushing when she smiled at him. “You ready to make this call?”

Strike nodded and pulled a chair over to Robin’s desk. He figured they could use the office phone, on speaker, to call The Fan, record the conversation on his mobile. 

“Alright, I’ve got the list of questions so we can just jot down the answers right away. You got your phone to record? Good. Ok,” Robin took a shaky breath, trying to hide her nervousness. She dialed the number listed on their first letter, her leg bounced nervously as it rang. 

Strike sat leaning over the desk, both feet planted firmly on the floor. He was trying to keep his anger at bay, and talk to this lunatic like any other of his clients that came to him with a job. After three rings a voice sounded on the other line.

“Hello!” A cheerful voice came through the line clearly. “Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Cormoran B. Strike?!” The elation could be heard in the man's voice. 

“Speaking,” Strike said gruffly, Robin gave him a side glance, which he returned with a glare. “How can I help you mister…?”

“Ah yes, you can call me David, no need for such formalities as _mister_. It’s so grand to finally talk to you again! I was so disappointed when you didn’t call yesterday,” He chuckled. The friendliness that David was showing set both Strike and Robin on edge. 

“I am sorry I didn’t read the letter in time to make the call. Just swamped with letters,” Cormoran rolled his eyes at Robin, “Alright, David, how can I help you?”

“Well as my letter said I would like you to look into Thomas O’Malley. He is up to no good and needs to be stopped.”

“Yes, you had mentioned that, but I am going to need a little more information. There is more than one Thomas O’Malley in London. Could you please tell me about the particular O’Malley?”

“Yes! Yes! Of course! I am so pleased that you have agreed to take this case on!”

“O’Malley?”

“Right, right. The particular Thomas O’Malley I would like you to investigate is an account manager at Moore and Adler.” Robin gasped, covering her mouth to the sound. “He’s a senior partner, very untouchable, but he has a dirty little secret that I would like you to bring to light.”

“Why don’t you go to the police?”

“Oh no, no, I want YOU to solve it. The police never listen, and they just muck everything up. This is your case, your prize.”

“And how do you know Mr. O’Malley?” 

“Oh you know, here and there. Met him once or twice, terrible bloke.”

“Where have you met with him?”

“Not important.”

“You know it might be, I like to get as much information as I can about those I am looking into.”

“Well, at the firm, he also knows one of my employers, so I have seen him there as well.”

“Where would that be?”

“Not getting that from me, so sorry.” He hummed through the phone. 

“Alright, what is it that you suspect Mr. O’Malley of doing?”

“I believe you will find out tonight, I suggest you start tailing him ASAP. I was hoping we would have had this conversation yesterday so you would have more time to prepare. Not my fault, you see.”

“Why do you want us to investigate him? What do you stand to gain?”

“Why knowing that there is one less criminal on the street and to help London see what a fantastic detective you are. You deserve it after being on the brink of catastrophe twice.”

“How long have you been following my career for?” Strike asked, brow furrowed, trying to remember anyone and everyone he’d ever met. 

“Oh for a while now, since the beginning of it all!”

God this guy was cryptic. Strike could see he wasn’t getting anywhere with this man. He should have know that with all the meticulous planning that seemed to have gone into the letters and photos that the phone call would be no different. 

“I see, well thank you for your business. I am going to get my partner Robin on the line so she can your invoice drawn up.”

“Thank _you_ Cormoran! I can’t believe I finally get to work with you!”

“Right, here’s Robin,”

“Hello, is this David? This is Robin Ellacott, Mr. Strike’s partner. I am just going to collect some information for the invoice. Give me a moment to get the paperwork ready... How about that rain yesterday?” She paused finding a blank page in her notebook, purposely rustling the pages loudly.

“Oh yes, quite a downpour, you got quite drenched if I remember correctly.”

Strike glared at the phone as if it was then one insinuating that it saw Robin barely clothed.

“Yes, I got soaked to the bone. Now David, what is your last name and address where we can send the invoice?”

“Mmmm, as you can probably guess I can’t give you that information.”

“Well, Mr… well David, I need to send this invoice to someone. Would you like to come pick it up personally?”

He laughed a jovial laugh, “Oh darling you are too sweet, I can see why he keeps you around. Let’s see, you can address it to me, David, at PO Box 4325 London.”

“Alright, thank you, David… can I ask you something?”

“Sure Robin.”

“How do you know Mr. Strike, you really seem to have a connection with him. You must know him personally?”

“Oh I do!” There was a slight pause, the sound of an intercom coming on in the background broke the silence. Robin thought she heard a name called overhead, but it was too muffled to make out. “Well I don’t want to hold you up any more! You both have some investigating to do! Good luck! You aren’t going to want to miss this one! Ta”

And with that the phone went dead. 

“I don’t like this, Robin.” 

“Nor I.” She sighed, “Not much choice at this point.” She powered on the computer, resting her chin in her hand as she waited for the computer to boot up. “Mr. O’Malley works where Matthew works. I think maybe Matthew pointed him out at one of the social gatherings, never introduced me, but Matthew was star struck. Mr. O’Malley is a bigwig there.” She squeezed her eyes shut, “This is going to be a disaster when Matthew finds out.”

“If there is anything to find out, this guy could still be one hundred percent nuts. Could have imagined some slight when he didn’t get good financial advice or something.”

“Right, no sense in worrying.” Robin pulled up their calendar, “No new clients today, other than The Fan. We are suppose to tail Mrs. Edwards’ husband this afternoon, other than that we have a pretty empty schedule.’

“He has a tennis match at one, his wife doesn’t think he’s actually playing tennis, but in her words ‘but balls are still being played with.’”

Robin snorted. “I’ll get to work on finding out more about Mr. O’Malley, see if I can get his schedule ironed out for the day.”

“All right, give me your notes from the call, I’ll get them organized for the file.”

Robin handed over the sheets of paper that had her answers written much more hastily than the questions. Strike nodded thanks and took them into his office to turn them into his meticulous notes that he completed for all cases. Robin had been getting good at making her own, but for this he needed to make sure that everything was done exactly how he was trained to do. 

He sat behind his desk and read through Robin’s notes. She had carefully scribbled The Fan’s answers, starting to pick up on the shorthand that Strike used. She also underlined and starred things she had found important. One word was circled repeatedly and written in all caps “talk to you AGAIN???” Was written near the top of the page. Strike had caught that too, he had said it was so good to speak to Strike AGAIN. If they had met before, this man’s face was somewhere in Strike’s head. He did not recognize the voice, nor the manorisms, but it had to be there somewhere. He hoped Robin was having better luck on the other side of the door. 

She was indeed. She had called Moore and Adler claiming to have a very important package that had to be delivered directly to Mr. O’Malley, that he and no one else could sign for it, and that he would not appreciate it being delayed. She was told that he was in meetings until five and then had dinner reservations at six at Restaurant Story, Robin gave a cool thanks and hung up the phone. She had found out that he has been working at Moore and Adler since 2009, prior to that was at Redfield, Hayes and Kent, a large accounting firm in Manchester where he had been CFO but left… for a lower position? That was odd, Robin thought, she suspected something less than savory likely occurred and this was they way the rich and powerful dealt with problems amongst their ranks: resign and quietly start a new job high up elsewhere. 

He had at least two properties in the city, a country home in Devon. Robin had tried a few self-storage locations, pretending to be his secretary, but either he had none, or used a fake name. He had been married twice, no children and currently single. 

Around eleven Strike emerged from his office, eager to see what Robin had found. He sat on the farting couch and listened as Robin ran through the man’s history and schedule for today. 

“I think if we pick him up after work, tail him to dinner and after we should be good. I’d say we could try to get a table, but this restaurant is extremely exclusive and extremely expensive.” Robin frowned a little. “I’ve always wanted to try it.” She said wistfully. 

Strike had heard of the restaurant, he thinks maybe Al had a party there one time that Strike had graciously declined. He looked at Robin, gazing off in the distance, no doubt daydreaming of what fantastic foods she could eat if only her boss paid her a reasonable salary. Maybe he could take her there for her birthday...although October was a long way off, probably take that long to save up for the place. Strike shook his head, they had more important things to think about than asking her out on a date… _a date?!_ He sighed internally, hoping he would get over this crush at some point before he went mad. 

Both of them came out of their own thoughts and continued with their plans for the remainder of the day.

Robin was to follow Mr. Tennis Balls (Robin’s newly minted name for Mr. Edwards) this afternoon, as Strike wanted to pick up some supplies for tonight. Robin had cocked a questioning eyebrow at Strike when he switched up the plan, but made no effort to explain himself. They would meet up at the office, around three, head to Robin’s flat to get the Land Rover, just in case tailing Mr. O’Malley by foot proved difficult. 

Robin ran down to the corner shop and returned with sandwiches and a bag of crisps to share. Strike was happy Robin was eating again, the weight she had lost for the wedding, and several more pounds after, were starting to come back, her shape was filling back in. Strike and Robin sat in silence as they ate, Robin at the computer looking for flats for rent, Strike on the couch, deep in thought. 

Strike’s mind was wandering as he chewed his egg sandwich. Who is The Fan, what does he really want? Why is he taking pictures of Robin? Why does Robin have to live alone? Why did he have to care so bloody much? Did she care as much about him as he did her? What was she thinking when Matthew showed up this morning?Was she really glad he interrupted the wedding? What did she mean when she said that he saved her? Soon Strike became aware his mind was bemuttled with many questions he would never have the answer to. He could get some answers though. And maybe because they had gotten so few answers from The Fan Strike needed answers for something. 

“Robin,” Strike looked up his sandwich, which he realized he had been staring at very intensely.

“Hmm?” She was still staring at her computer screen, jotting down information on some newly posted flats. 

“Can.. can I ask you something?” 

He was looking away from her when she turned her attention to him. He never asked to ask anything, nor did he really ever ask her anything that would need permission. 

“Sure, Cormoran.” She put her pen and paper down and turned her body to face him fully. 

“You told me, at your wedding,” he swallowed, “you said, that I saved you,” He paused again looking to her for a reaction, but none came, “what did you mean by that?”

He knew what she meant, he saved her from marrying that twat, saved her from having to find a new job that she hated, saved her from going back to the old Robin. But for some reason that Strike didn’t want to admit to, he needed to hear her say it. 

She stared at him, shocked that he would bring that up, maybe it was from the run in with Matthew earlier today, worried she might be having second thoughts? Strike was never one for personal conversation when it wasn’t necessary, much to Robin’s disappointment, so she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

“Well I think it’s quite obvious. You saved me from a future of misery. I would have been miserable with Matthew, miserable with a job a HR, miserable…” she sighed, “miserable without you in my life.” She blushed as she said it, but she meant it wholeheartedly. “Or at least with the way we had left things. I saw your ability to completely cut Charlotte out of your life, and you had known her for sixteen years, you had loved her. When you left my flat that day, I thought that was it, I thought I would never hear from you or see you again. I had lost my job and a dear friend that day, it broke my heart.” 

There was a twist in Strikes chest when she had said that, he had never thought of it that way, he knew she was upset over losing the job, how important the job was to her. He never expected her to feel the same way about losing him. While she couldn’t have known, he must have, somewhere deep down, that firing her that day wasn’t going to be the end of it, the end of them. He must have known for the thought of never seeing her again was what drove him to Marsham to the wedding, to save her, even if he would never admit to himself that was the true purpose of his attendance. 

“Oi, Robin, will you ever forgive me?” He asked lightly, “Worst mistake of my life. I promise to never fire you again, I swear it on my other leg.” 

They smiled at each other, a smiled of understanding, a smiled of mutual pain and heartache, a smile of healing and moving forward, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so hopefully this chapter wasn’t too painful. It’s not my favorite, but I think that’s because I had to write a lot about things I don’t know much about. Again if I’ve made any mistakes please let me know. 
> 
> Also... do we know where Matthew works? Is the name of it ever mentioned? I couldn’t remember or find it so I just made one up....
> 
> ALSO  
> Since Mr. O’Malley works with Matthew he will obviously be making another appearance. HOWEVER I am trying to decide how much drama I want to put in their relationship. Right now its pretty amicable, and part of me wants to leave it that way, BUT I had another idea where it would get a little messy... What do you guys think? Keep it simple or muss it up a bit?
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know!!


	6. The Stake Out: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike now have a target, so it’s time to plan and start the stake out!

Robin’s mobile dinged as she exited the tube station.

_COME TO FLAT. XC_

She made her way down Denmark Street, ever vigilant, checking window reflections and her mirror compact when no window panes were available. She made it back to the office without incident and climbed the stairs to Cormoran’s flat. 

She knocked and opened the door, knowing it would be easier for her to just let herself in than him get up and do it himself. 

“I think Mr. Tennis Balls is meeting with a Mr. Racket, not a Miss,” Robin said opened the door. 

Strike sat at the small kitchen table with a map out, some markers, two cheap mobiles, his binoculars, long lense camera, a grocery bag and another bag from a wig shop. 

Strike looked up as she came through the door with mixed emotions about her just letting herself in. He was a man that enjoyed his privacy, but was happy she felt comfortable enough to just let herself in. “Take a seat.”

She set her purse down on the floor, and pulled the other chair around to sit next to him, just as she had done at her flat. “What is all this?” She asked surveying his purchases. “Why do you have a bag from a wig shop?”

“That’s for you.” Robin looked taken aback, she pulled nervously at her hair. “What's wrong with my hair?”

“It’s too pret- too noticeable.” Strike cursed himself for nearly blurting out how pretty he thought her hair was. There was no denying it, for either of them, that her hair did stand out, a bright golden flame amongst a sea of muted colors. “You’re hair is quite memorable, I figured tonight, and if you need in the future, that will help you blend in a little more. Not stand out as much.”

Robin frowned and continued to fiddle with her hair. She supposed he was right, she did love her hair and the envious looks she got from women and lingering looks she got from men, well some men. “Alright.” She picked up a mobile, “and these?”

“Burners. I don’t know how high tech David is but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra mobile that he doesn’t know about. And here,” Strike said pointing to the map, “are the locations we know about for Mr. O’Malley.” Mr. O’Malley’s homes, place of work and the restaurant he was going to tonight were circled, each in a corresponding color. “I also ticked off some storage units close by, just in case.”

“Looks good. What's in the shopping bag?” She asked as she reached over to peer in. 

“Stake out snacks.” He smiled at her and she rolled her eyes. 

“I always feel bad when I eat all the food you bring,” he shrugged. 

Robin moved to the wig bag and pulled out a brunette wig with long hair and side swept bangs; should cover her hair easily enough. Up close you could definitely tell it was was wig, but she was sure that from far away, especially with a hat on, no one would be the wiser. “Where’s your wig?” She asked playfully. “This hair is pretty memorable too!” She reached up toying with his tight curls. They were actually much softer than she had imagined them to be which caused her hand to stay in place longer than she had intended. 

Slowly Robin’s eyes drifted down from his curls to his rather annoyed looking face, which quickly brought her back and she pulled her hand away mortified. Why did she do that? Was she really just playing with her boss’ hair?

She quickly dropped her hand to her lap, looked away and blushed, “Sorry…”

Strike wasn’t sure what to say or how to react. They both just sat there, Strike staring at Robin, Robin staring at her hands, both savoring the lingering sensation of fingers in hair. 

Strike turned back to the map, putting a little x on Robin’s street. Strike cleared his throat, “Right, so we start here at your flat, I would say we could sit outside O’Malley’s office, however Matthew may notice your Land Rover and me… So I figured we could drop the Rover near the restaurant. I’ll hang out in that area. If you don’t mind the trek, you could head back towards the office, keep an eye out for him leaving for the day. I think that will let us cover as much ground as possible, hopefully without being spotted by Matthew.”

Robin nodded in agreement. “I haven’t gone for a run today, with a hat and sunglasses I should be harder to recognize, and if Matthew does spot me, going for a run seems like a reasonable cover.”

Strike stood, wandering to his closet, pulling out a freshly pressed shirt and clean, pressed slacks. “I’m gonna get changed, I figure if I’m hanging around a swanky restaurant I better try to look like I belong there.” He smiled at Robin awkwardly, knowing that he never really _fit in_ anywhere, except maybe a boxing ring, with his height and massive frame. 

“Alright, let me get this packed up, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Robin began to fold up the map, placed the equipment in the snack bag and carefully placed the wig back in its bag. “See you down stairs,” She said as she lifted the bags. She headed out the door, as she turned around to shut the door behind her, she caught a glimpse of Strike unbuttoning his shirt. She paused momentarily, the door open just a crack as he tugged the shirt out of his pants, shrugging the shirt off his expansive shoulders. Thick hair matted his chest and belly, Robin blushed as she wondered if it was as soft as the hair on his head turned out to be. 

Thirty minutes later Strike and Robin were headed up to her flat, it was about four in the afternoon, Strike suggested they leave soon as traffic would start getting bad for Robin. 

“Shouldn’t take but ten minutes for me to be ready. Could you make some coffee for tonight?” Robin left Strike standing in the kitchen, their bags on the table. Strike busied himself trying to find the the coffee and getting the kettle on. 

He could see through the living room that Robin’s door was left slightly open. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her frame move quickly by the opening. The effort in which it took to pull his eyes away was immense but he managed to refocus on the coffee. He wondered to himself however, if she had left it open on accident or….? Of course it was an accident you twat. She wouldn’t have left it open on purpose. Strike frowned as he poured the hot water over the grounds.

“Mmm, smells great” Robin had popped up next to him.

Strike froze and took in the picture before him: Robin had her hair in a tight bun that popped out of the back of a baseball cap. She wore a bright pink tank top that cut much lower than any of her work blouses and tight leggings that cut off just below the knee. Robin was looking much fitter these days, and in this outfit Strike could appreciate that fully. 

“Er-what? Yea… where’s your flask for the coffee??” he glanced up at the cabinets, trying to avoid looking at her, much like he did when she had worn that green dress, he wondered if she ever got to wear it. Robin moved down the kitchen and retrieved the flask from the cupboard and handed it to him smiling. “Almost ready?” He asked as he nodded thanks. 

“Yes, I just need to pack up a change of clothes, and our snacks.” She nearly bounced out of the room leaving a fresh flowery scent in her wake. 

Strike poured the coffee into the flask, sealing it up tight so it would stay warm into the evening. He dumped the grounds and washed out the french press. 

As he was drying the carafe Robin came back with a rucksack and smiled at him, “Thanks for washing that out! Matthew always made me do it, and I hate washing the darn thing.” A warmness spread across her chest as he flung the towel on his shoulder and set the press back down. He leaned against the counter and watched Robin as she filled the sack with the food and flask. “I think that does it. Ready?”

“Ready.” 

Robin scooped up her keys, mobile and headphones as they headed out the door. Strike surveyed the area as Robin locked up the front door. An elderly woman walked her rat sized dog, a couple walked up the road, hand-in-hand, causing Strike to wonder what it felt like to hold Robin’s hand. And that’s when he saw it: the lense was gone through the bushes before his brain had registered what he saw. 

“Robin!” Strike started to hobble down the stairs towards the street taking off in the direction of the peeping bushes. Robin dropped the bag and took off after him, “Where?” She asked coming up behind him quickly. He no sooner pointed at the bushes then she took off sprinting in that direction. “Robin!” He was as idiot for thinking she wouldn’t go bounding off after the snoop or for thinking she wouldn’t beat him there. 

Strike pushed his knee to try to catch up, but Robin had vanished into the bushes. He could tell by their density, that while Robin may have been able to squeeze through, his bulking frame would need to go around. He cursed his body two times over as he headed towards the end of the overgrown hedges. “Damn it”, he shouted out loud as he felt his knee protest more and more with each step. Robin lept back through the bushes just behind Strike, she stood there out of breath, hands on her knees. 

“I’m sorry, I lost him,” She panted, she stood up straight and looked at Cormoran with a face twisted up in anger and frustration. “He was so fast! I’m sorry, Cormoran. I should have gotten him!” She let out exasperated sign, Cormoran thought she looked like she was about to cry.

“S’all right Robin,” he said as he placed a large heavy hand on her shoulder. He could feel her breathing slow under his touch. “I hadn’t even made it to the bushes yet,” he gave her his self-deprecating smile. “You may not have got him, but I’m guessing you can tell us a few things about him. First off we know for sure its a him, could have used voice editing software on the phone. Now tell me what you saw.”

Robin stood tall and shrugged off his hand. She closed her eyes and pictured the man running from her. “He was tall and thin, he had a baseball cap and sunglasses on, but was white. Hands and face looked pretty pale, must not get a lot of sun. He was wearing a long sleeve grey shirt, blue jeans and running shoes, like he knew he might need to make a quick get away.”

“Alright then. We will keep an eye out for tall skinny pale men. Not that he couldn’t have an accomplice, but we can look harder for this bloke. Good work Robin.” He knew she was still upset she didn’t catch him but she did much more than he had. “Come along now, let's get going, we have work to do.”

Robin ran back up to the flat to get the bags she had dropped and met Strike back down on the sidewalk as they headed towards the Land Rover. Strike tried desperately to hide his ever growing limp as his dash to the bushes was a little more strain than he usually subjected his leg to. He had never been so thankful that Robin had a car. 

While it was only a short drive from Robin’s flat to the restaurant, traffic began to thicken and it took nearly thirty minutes to get there and find parking. “I hate driving this in traffic, my left leg is exhausted.” Robin got out and started stretching. 

“I’m sorry, Robin, I wish I could help.” Strike stood and rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. While he did enjoy riding with Robin, she was the best driver he had ever known, he did feel bad that he could never take the wheel. 

Robin saw the look on his face and smiled warmly at him. “You know I don’t mind driving, stop and go traffic is just awful regardless. I shouldn’t be complaining to you anyways… sorry.” She looked at him apologetically. She bent forward and touched her toes, Strike watched the entrance of the restaurant. After a few more stretches Robin bounced up and hopped from foot to foot. “Right, it’s just under two kilometers to his office, should take just about ten minutes for me to get over there, should be there by 4:45. Hopefully make it there before he leaves.” Robin pulled a small water bottle from the rucksack, and slid her small camera into the waistband of her leggings. She plugged her headphones into her phone, strapped to her arm, “See you soon, yea?”

“Have a good run, Robin, keep your eyes out.”

She smiled and took off in the direction of London Bridge. Rarely did she have the opportunity to run it, but the few times she had, she enjoyed the views. Robin turned on her favorite mix of music, but kept the volume down low, so it was more background sounds to the hum and buzz of the city. Her feet hit the pavement to the rhythm of the song playing and she made quick work of the journey to the office. 

Strike leaned against the Land Rover as he pulled a smoke from his coat pocket. He took his first drag as Robin disappeared around the corner, he hoped she had a smooth, safe journey, and didn’t run into Matthew. Strike turned his attention back to the front of the restaurant, watching Londons well-to-do citizens exited taxis, limos and sports cars that they handed over to the valet outside. 

Miraculously Robin had found a spot with a view of the front of the restaurant and once Strike finished his cigarette he climbed back in, behind the steering wheel, adjusting the seat slightly as to fit his large frame. He momentarily thought about how he missed driving. He could drive an automatic, but it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t feel like he was driving when he was behind the wheel of an automatic, didn’t have enough control and once upon a time he didn’t know what to do with his left foot when he was stuck with an automatic in the past. 

He sighed and was once again thankful he had Robin, and that she was as wonderful as she was. He had never thought a temp would have made such a profound impact on him, where nearly all the good in his life was tied to her somehow. As he pondered this thought, he knew it was necessary to steel his reserve, that he keep things professional between them, he could not do anything to jeopardize what he had with her. He frowned and absent mindedly reached into the snacks, getting hold of some crisps. 

He was halfway through the bag when his mobile dinged.

_At the office, looking for O’Malley xR_

Robin had run at a light pace and made the trek in just over ten minutes. She was breathing hard, but it felt good to feel the burn in her lungs and her legs. She slowed near the entrance but continued on to the end of the block where she crossed the street and found a bench to stretch on opposite the main doors. 

Robin froze as two familiar faces came out the double doors across the street. Matthew held the door open as Sarah Shadlock followed close behind. Robin hoped her hat and oversized sunglasses did enough to disguise her, because she could not tear her sight away from the couple. Her eyes traveled from their smiling happy faces, to the slim arm wrapped around Matthew’s, to the glint on the third finger of her left hand, then finally resting on Sarah’s stomach. Robin’s eyes widened as she saw a slight protrusion where Sarah’s flat stomach used to be. _Maybe she’s just getting fat._ Robin desperately tried for an explaination other than the obvious, however all other explanations were destroyed when Matthew lovelingly placed his hand on said bump and kissed Sarah sweetly. Robin felt like she was going to be sick, how could he? How could they? 

Fortunately for Robin, Mr. O’Malley exited the building soon after Matthew, walking briskly by him as Matthew tried to get his boss’s attention, no doubt to show off his new fiancé and baby. Robin shook her head and focused at the man she was sent to find, processing the happy family would have to happen later. She was able to walk parallel to him towards a black hired car ideling at the end of the block. Luckily in the evening traffic, keeping up with a vehicle on foot wouldn’t be too much of an issue. 

Robin waited for the traffic to clear, crossed the street and started following the car as it pulled away from the curb and quickly got stuck in the gridlock of rush hour. Robin stopped along side of the car, leaning down to re-tie her shoe. She stood as traffic started moving slowly forward. She glanced back over her shoulder and cursed herself as she saw Matthew looking in her direction. She quickly turned and started walking after the car. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw recognition on his face before she turned away. Her heart was pounding, hoping he hadn’t see or at least not recognized her as she picked up her pace slightly to keep up. 

It seemed they were headed directly to the restaurant, making their way back the same way Robin had come. She called Strike on her headphones to let him know they were on their way. Once they made it back to London Bridge she sprinted to the other side as to not be as obvious, hoping the driver hadn’t noticed her pace had fluxuated somewhat whenever the traffic stalled. How many times could she tie her shoe? 

She made it to the other side of the bridge, feigned a cramp and started stretching, waiting for the black car to make its way over the deck. As she waited her mobile vibrated, she looked down to see a text from Matthew. _Shit_

_WHERE ARE YOU? I THINK I JUST SAW YOU - Matt_

She chose to ignore it. Still not time to process what had happened on the other side of the bride. Finally she saw the car of interest, it threw it’s blinker on and headed down Tooley Street. Robin waited for her turn to cross the road and began jogging after Mr. O’Malley. It was much farther down from the bridge to the restaurant and at Robin’s pace she quickly took on the car and passed it. She made it back to the Land Rover as O’Malley’s car pulled up alongside the restaurant to let him out. Robin peered into the front to find Strike missing. 

_Where are you -xR_

_Turn around -xC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally was one chapter and holy cow was it long, so I decided to break it up into two chapters. 
> 
> Hope the Matthew suprise wasn’t too bad, more to come!
> 
> Also sooooo excited the show starts tonight in the US!!!
> 
> As always I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to comment!  
> <3


	7. The Stake Out: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike continue their stake out and follow Thomas O’Malley to his home. What sinister act will they catch him in?

Where are you -xR

Turn around -xC

She turned around and found Strike sitting in a pub with two pints in front of him, along with the long lense hidden discreetly beneath a jumper, pointed out into the street. The pub had large floor to ceiling windows that opened up into the street and Cormoran had gotten a table that had a fantastic view of the entrance to Restaurant Story. She couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. 

“Really? You couldn’t make it thirty minutes without popping into a pub?” She teased him. 

“Hey, I got us comfortable seats to view the comings and goings of Mr. O’Malley’s current whereabouts and I got us refreshments. I think I read somewhere that beer was a good way to rehydrate after a run.” He smiled and handed her a pint. 

“Thanks,” she beamed back and took a long sip. “I’ll be back in a moment, I should change.” Strike held up her rucksack. She thanked him again and headed to the washroom. 

The run had given her face a healthy glow and she was feeling tight and lean. She took off her hat, wiped her face and neck down with a wet paper towel, and dabbed up some sweat in a few other places. She entered the handicap stall so she would have more room to change. She peeled off her work out clothes, dried off a little more, and slid into a black jersey dress that fell just above her knees. The dress was simple and comfortable, but could easily be dressy or casual without any changes. She popped some pearls in her ears and slid her feet in to black ballet flats. 

She came back out of the stall to finish up her hair and makeup. She unrolled her bun, letting a cascade of curls fall around her shoulders. She threw on some mascara and light pink lip gloss. She smiled at herself, happy with what she saw in the mirror and made her way back out to Strike. 

“Hey,” she smiled at him, blushing slightly when he stared back, mouth slightly agape, and at a loss for words. He was still silent as she slid into the chair next to him. “Eyes on the prize Mr. Strike.” She pointed at the restaurant across the way. 

“Er-right, sorry. You look nice, Robin, impressive what you women can do in the ladies room.” He laughed as she hit him with the back of her hand. And like that they were back to their usual banter. They sat sipping their beers, chatting, and watching the entrance of the establishment across the way. Cormoran clicked the shutter every time a face walked in or out of the joint, in case any of them ended up meeting with Mr. O’Malley, or in the off chance that whoever David was came by to check out the progress. 

After two and a half hours Mr. O’Malley emerged for a smoke. He came out alone and merely stood outside, finished and headed back in. 

“This is our cue,” Strike threw back the last of his third pint, which he had never drank so slowly before, and picked up Robin’s rucksack. “They should be finishing up, likely his smoke before dessert.”

“Why don’t you head over, I’ll put this in the car, get my disguise on. With the sun behind the buildings it shouldn’t be too noticeable.” She winked at him. 

Strike took one last longing look at her golden tresses as they parted ways, he hobbled across the street and Robin glided back to the car. She tossed the rucksack in the back and climbed in after it. Robin began quickly pinning up her hair on the back of her head and at the nape of her neck, trying to get all the fly aways tampered down. Carefully she lifted the wig out of the bag and placed it on her head. It was the first time she had ever worn a wig, but she had watched several videos online this afternoon. She pulled out a mirror making sure everything was tucked away and that the hair fell naturally around her face. I don’t look half bad brunette, she thought to herself, but blonds have more fun, she smiled, or so they say, she frowned. Satisfied she locked up the car and made her way over to Strike across the street. 

Strike had taken the opportunity to get more nicotine into his system, a small cloud of smoke hung around him as she figured he was likely already on his second. He almost didn’t recognize her as she walked up, dark brown bang swept across her face, hair falling past her shoulders. “Well?” She asked as she stood beside him. 

“Works well, barely recognized you.” _You still stand out to me, though,_ he thought to himself as she beamed back at him. 

“So, have you been able to see who he’s with?” She asked, glancing around his shoulder into the windows. Slowly the light from inside was outshining the setting sun, making it easier to see in, harder to see out. 

“Looks like more of the business type.” Strike nodded in their direction. Robin could see that Mr. O’Malley was with three other men, laughing, Robin wondered what about. 

Robin watched as he motioned for the waiter to bring the bill and downed the rest of his drink. “Looks like they are finishing up.” 

Strike extended his elbow, “Shall we?” 

She happily took his arm and they slowly meandered towards the front of the restaurant hoping to catch some of the conversation as the men exited the building. Strike and Robin stood arm in arm admiring the building, as if trying to decide if they wanted to go in, which was slightly ridiculous since one would generally need a reservation, especially this time of night. 

“So, have you put any thought into what nafarious schemes Mr. O’Malley is involved in that we are suppose to uncover?” Robin asked as they waited, glancing up at Strike’s profile. 

He smiled and gave her a side long glance. “David could still be his lover, and this could still be some elaborate plot to catch him cheating...but I suppose that’s no fun. Stealing, prostitutes, trading financial secretes, treason against the Queen!”

“Murder!” Robin growled at him, and burst out giggling. “Actually that would be quite terrible,” she frowned. “Oh here they come.”

Robin and Strike stepped slightly to the side so they would not be noticed as the group of men came out. 

“Come on now, Tom, we’ve got lots to celebrate! More drinks! On the company!” Howled one man that clearly didn’t need any more drinks. He slapped O’Malley on the back.

He grinned back, “No, no, sorry! I have a few more things that I absolutely have to get done tonight! It can’t be put off any more, sorry chaps. Have a drink or two for me, won’t you?” 

His colleague stumbled. 

“Or don’t!” He laughed along with the rest of the group and headed off to his hired car that had pulled up.

“Quickly, back to the rover.” Strike whispered in her ear and they briskly walked across the street back to the parked car. Robin got the car going as Strike climbed in the passenger side. Fortunately pointed in the right direction, Robin was able to quickly catch up with the black sedan. 

As they followed along it seemed like he was headed to his home in Kensington. Robin was able to give a little more space since it seemed obvious where he was going. 

“Let’s try to beat him home.” Stike said, and started giving Robin side street directions. Robin drove quickly smoothly down the streets as Strike guided her with ease. Strike marveled at her ability to take directions behind the wheel, Robin marveled at his map-like mind. Robin pulled past O’Malley’s address, killing the engine. Strike and Robin quickly got out of the front and into the back, where Robin had pulled out the back seats giving her and Strike ample stake out space. 

They waited in the back, eyes peeled for the headlights of the black sedan. Strike checked his watch, looking back to the road. 

“Shouldn’t be too long, should have only shaved about five minutes off the commute.”

Robin nodded as they continued to watch and wait. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.

“Shit, maybe he wasn’t coming home!” Strike looked irritated. “Shit.”

“Oh look!” Robin pointed as headlights turned on to the street. “Maybe he just stopped off to get something at the store?” Robin and Strike shifted from the comfortable positions they had slumped into to get a better view of the O’Malley house.

The car pulled into the driveway of O’Malley’s residence. The engine died and Mr. O’Malley got out of the car, which seemed odd, since he hadn’t been driving when they left the restaurant. 

Strike tugged Robin down as O’Malley began scanning the street, likely checking to see if the coast was clear. Robin held up her compact mirror to check on their progress. With the killed the lights she didn’t have to worry about sending any signals with the reflection of the mirror. 

“Oh!” Robin jumped up to peer out the window as soon as she realized what she was seeing in her mirror. “Camera!” She hissed at Strike who was a little slower to get up. As soon as she felt the weight of the camera in her hands she started snapping photos, hoping some of them would come out in the low light. 

Finally Strike had been able to look out the window: Mr. O’Malley was dragging an limp body out of the back seat. Robin’s finger continued to press the shutter button as the body came more and more visible. It appeared to be a woman: long brown hair and a skimpy sequine dress soon came tumbling out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter chapter. I have been struggling with the next chapter, but I am hoping I can push through it, I think I finally know how I want everything to go down. 
> 
> ALSO next chapter things are gonna get grisly. I’m assuming everyone can handle it since they have presumably read all three books, so nothing worse than what RG/JKR has written, but this is where the Archieve warning will come in. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always hope you enjoy :)


	8. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike have seen what O’Malley has brought home with him. Now to figure out what he is up to!

Robin and Strike watched in horror as she moved slightly on the pavement, at least she was still alive. She seemed to try to get up, but with the amount of whatever sedative was in her system she failed on multiple attempts. O’Malley seemed upset and quickly covered her mouth and nose with a rag. 

“Chloroform.” Strike whispered to Robin. 

“We have to save her!” Robin whispered back. 

“We will, just keep snapping photos, we need to see where he’s going, then we can call the police.” 

Once she stopped moving O’Malley put the rag away and scooped her up. Robin put her hand on the door, but Strike stopped her. 

“Not yet.” His hand grabbed the forearm of the hand that was reaching for the door handle. He stared out the back window, watching as O’Malley hoisted the woman up in to a vertical position. He put her arm around his shoulder and carry-dragged her towards the front door. If anyone saw they may just think she’s drunk, Strike thought to himself. 

O’Malley got the door open and the woman inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“Now, go.” Strike said letting go of her arm. “Get up to that window, see if you can see anything, I’ll be close behind.”

Robin scampered out of the car, up the driveway to the window, peering in over the edge. Her eyes scanned the dark living room, she could partially see into the kitchen which was slightly lit. 

Strike was headed to the front door, pulling his lock picks from his pocket. He glanced to her and she simple shook her head. Strike motioned to her to join him at the front door. “I don’t like this, call the cops, tell them there is an unconscious woman at this address and that you think it’s an overdose, that they need to come quick.”

Strike bent down and began inserting different tools into the large lock on the front door. 

Robin dialed 999 and became increasingly nervous as the phone rang.

“999 what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, hello I am at 3 Tor Gardens in Kensington. There is an unconscious woman here, I think she’s overdosed. Please send someone fast. I think someone hurt her too, please send police!”

“Come on!” Strike grumbled in frustration. Rich people and their damn locks. Finally he felt the thunk of the bolt sliding back into the doorframe. Slowly Strike turned the knob and pushed the door past the threshold. He peered in, clearing the room. “Stay behind me.” He whispered as he entered the living room.

Robin internally rolled her eyes, but kept close to him, glad that he had such a massive frame. Her heart was pounding in her chest in anticipation. She had never broken into a house before, and certainly hadn’t tried to stop a crime that was still being committed. While she had taken on Alyssa, there were children at home at the time, and she had no idea what they were walking into. Maybe this was a huge mistake. 

The room remained dark as they continued farther into the house. _Where did they go?_ Strike wondered, the house was silent, which seems like it would be difficult considering O’Malley was dragging a body around with him. Strike felt a nudge in his side as Robin pointed to a partially turned up carpet corner. 

She kneed down and pulled the rest of the rug back. She turned to look at Strike as she revealed what seemed to be a hidden door in the floor. She hadn’t thought she could have been more nervous then when they walked in the front door, but this sent her heart rate over the top. She swallowed hard and her hands shook as she gripped the handle. She looked up once more to Strike, who stood over her, waiting for confirmation to open the door. He nodded and she began to pull back the hatch. 

Quietly she laid it back on the floor and they both looked down a steep staircase to a brightly lit room below. Still no sounds in the house put them both on edge, where were O’Malley and the woman? 

“You stay here,” Strike said, “I’ll look downstairs.” 

Robin swallowed hard. She didn’t know which option was worse. She stood from her crouched position and surveyed the room. “The police should be here soon.” 

Strike nodded and began descending the stairs. His large feet and one real leg did not made the trip easy. Slowly the room below came into view. Strike could already tell what they had found was going to be the most horrific thing he had ever seen. Worse than anything he had seen during his time with SIB, worse than seeing his own leg gone. 

Robin’s scream from above kept him from going any further. He carefully but quickly turned on the stairs and bolted up to the ground floor, two steps at a time. “ROBIN!” he bellowed, “ROBIN!” As he emerged from the floor, he saw two bodies on the ground, wreslting. 

It was nearly pitch black in the house, only a little light emanating from the kitchen and the hidden space below. Strike ran to the tussling bodies and grabbed the one on top by the waist, hoisting them up. Long hair fell into his face as he realized he had grabbed Robin. O’Malley lay on the ground with a busted lip and a rapidly swelling eye. 

“Cormoran! Let go!” She said, she tried not to struggle too much, not wanting to throw him off balance, but she didn’t want O’Malley to get up and get away. Strike set her down and stood over O’Malley who glared up at him. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?!” He yelled. 

“What the fuck are you doing with that woman?” Strike shouted back. 

O’Malley shifted under Strike and Robin caught the glint of a blade before he stabbed Strike violently in the leg. 

“Cormoran!” She yelled as the blade tore through the fabric of his pants. 

Strike smirked as he listened to metal on metal and O’Malley looked up in surprise. “Nice try, but that’s not gonna bother me much.” With that he grabbed O’Malley’s arm, flipped him over and knelt on his back. “Robin I’ve got some zip ties in my pocket, grab one.”

She did as he told her, and Strike deftly bound O’Malley’s arms behind his back, a motion that was still familiar in his mind from his SIB days. O’Malley swore and struggled, which only caused Strike to lean harder into his shoulder blades, forcing the air out of his lungs. 

“The police are here!” Robin jumped up from Strike’s side and ran to the door, throwing it wide open. “Please help in here!” She cried waving at the police. Her face was lit up by flickering blue lights as she stood in the door way. “Hurry!”

Strong torch lights were soon falling on Strike’s face, and he eased up on O’Malley as more and more law enforcement arrived. 

“What’s going on here?” One of the officers asked, this clearly was not an overdose situation as had been reported to him. 

“This man drugged a woman and brought her in here while she was unconscious.” Robin said, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “We saw her fall out of their car, try to get up, and he put a rag over her face, she went limp and he brought her inside.” 

The police officer looked from Robin to Strike to O’Malley, then back to Strike as if to look for confirmation of the story. Strike nodded at him. “We haven’t found the woman yet, but we found a trap door in the floor, I didn’t get all the way down before I heard them fighting. Looks like a lot of medical equipment down there. And this,” Strike said as he kicked the object that O’Malley tried to stab him with, “Looks like a scalpel.” 

Robin stared down in horror. What was he doing with all this stuff? What was he going to do to that woman?

Finally an officer had found the light switches and was able to illuminate the place. The first officer took a better look at the scene in front of him. A man bloodied and tied on the floor, a rather frazzled looking woman, and a hulking man with weird hair. He took a closer look at Strike. 

“I recognize you,” he said. “You’re that PI, that keeps trying to one up us.” 

Strike groaned internally, they did not need this right now. 

“Look, we got an annonymous tip that someone was going to get hurt by Mr. O’Malley,” he pointed to the man on the floor. “So we followed up on that tip. We didn’t know if it was credible or not, so we didn’t want to waste your time. The important thing is that you got a call on 999, you showed up quickly and now you can find out if the tip was credible or not.” This seemed to placate the officer somewhat. “Just please go down there and see if that’s anything to worry about.” Strike motioned to the opening in the floor. 

“Fine.” He turned to another officer, “Get that man off the floor and get him some medical attention. Jesus what did you do to his face?” He asked Strike. 

Robin cleared her throat, “That was me,” she tried not to sound like she was bragging, but held up bloody knuckles. “He grabbed me from behind, and I had to fight him off.” She glanced at Strike, giving him a _see I can take care of myself_ look and he desperately tried to look more upset with her. 

“Get these two out of here. Get her some medical attention for her hands... and don’t let them leave.” He shouted almost as an afterthought. 

An officer escorted them out to the waiting ambulance. 

“Robin, are you alright?” Strike asked as she showed her hands to the medic on the bus. 

“A bit shaken up, he scared me, and I am so worried about that woman. Where is she, Cormoran?” She looked up at him, wincing as the man poked and prodded her knuckles. 

“I don’t know, but I know what they find in the room will likely have them going over this house with a fine tooth comb and then some.” He glanced back to the house. 

“What did you see?” She asked him, part of her dreading the next words that would come out of his mouth, the other part needing to know. 

Strike sighed and ran a large hand over his face, and hair. “I don’t even know Robin. There were shelves with what looked like specimen jars, and I think I saw several large freezer chests. Maybe the wheels to a table or a metal bench. I hadn’t fully got into the room when I heard you, so I wasn’t able to see everything. The floor had a large drain in the middle, it smelled heavily of bleach.” Strike’s mind started to fill in the blanks, dreading what the police would find. 

Soon shouts started coming from the house. More cops ran in and the medic jumped down, excused himself and pulled a gurney out after them. Robin and Strike stood behind, waiting to see what the police would find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated this in a bit. First I got side tracked with other stories, then I just got busy! 
> 
> Anywho hope you enjoy this chapter. I have no idea if the address I gave O’Malley makes any sense and I hope I got the names/words right. 
> 
> Comments always welcome :)


	9. Rough Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The totality of the day finally hits as Robin and Strike wait to give their statement.

Robin and Strike stood by the ambulance as the medic re-emerged with the stretcher, carefully wheeling it down the driveway. Robin let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding once she saw that there was an oxygen mask on the woman that was strapped down. 

“Oh thank goodness,” She whispered and leaned against Strike, resting her forehead on his large arm. She let out a shaky breath, they had at least saved her. “Is she OK?” Robin asked the medic as he started to adjust the stretcher to get it into the ambulance. 

“She’s heavily sedated, but other than a few scratches she looks OK. They will have to do a full exam at the hospital.”

Strike watched Robin’s face pale slightly. Both of them knew what that would entail, but for entirely different reasons. 

“Right, thank you.” She tried to force a smile on her face. 

“Oi, can we get something for her hands?” Strike asked as the medic hopped into the back with the woman. 

“Oh right, sorry.” The medic looked around, grabbed a bottle of saline, some ointment and two rolls of gauze. “We got to get her to the A&E, I don’t think you’ve got anything more than some superficial scrapes. Wash it, keep it clean and dry, call your doc if it gets worse.” He handed Strike the materials and shut the door. 

“Let’s go back to the Rover, get you cleaned up,” he nodded towards her car. 

Robin opened the trunk and sat on the back bumper. Strike opened the saline, and poured it over Robin’s knuckles, it stung at first but the cool liquid began to soothe the cuts and scrapes that she had earned in her battle. 

Strike dried her wounds and gently applied ointment with his own large hands. “So what happened up there?” Strike asked has his thumb ran over her knuckles, rubbing in the ointment. He reached for the bandages and started wrapping her first hand. 

“Stupid men,” she shot him a sideways glance, “never expect the woman to fight back so hard.” Strike stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “He snuck up behind me, but I figured he must not have shoes on since he was being so quiet. One heavy step back on his foot kept him from getting hold of me. I tried for his neck, like I told you, and it knocked him to the floor. He wouldn’t stay down, and tried to grab at me, so I may have punched him a few times.”

Strike had stopped paying attention to his wound care duties and just stared at her. He had a sudden urge to kiss her, she absolutely blew him away, once again. Was there no end to the amazement this woman would bring him? 

“Um are you going to finish up or just hold my hand the rest of the night?” 

Strike looked down to find that he had stopped while applying ointment to her left hand. He had been holding her hand with one, while the other was resting on top of hers. His hands looked so large compared to her delicate hands. Her delicate hands that just beat up a lunatic. “Oh, sorry.” Strike quickly finished the job on her second hand. “Are you sure you’re OK?” He asked as she hopped down. “He didn’t get a swing in at your head or anything?” He looked at her with genuine concern. 

“I’m OK, Cormoran.” Part of her was annoyed that he kept asking, but she could tell that he was sincere in his concern and he was not trying to be patronizing. “Let’s go see what the police can tell us?” She said as she closed up the Land Rover. 

They headed back up the driveway. O’Malley was in the back of a police car at this point, his swollen face leaning up against the window. Robin looked at him smuggly as they walked by. The officer who had initially responded to their call was coming out of the house, pale and shaken looking. 

“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you back inside. This is an official crime scene.”

Strike examined the officer’s badge, _Quade_.

“Look we found the place, just let us see what was found.” Strike said. 

Quade sighed heavily, “I _promise_ you do not want to see what we found. I know you found that melted writer and bits and pieces in Lanig’s fridge, but this is worse.”

“Just tell us then,” Robin cut in. 

Quade shut his eyes as the images replayed in his head. “Look, we need you to go to the station and give us an official statement. They will be able to give you more information after you tell us what you know. I will tell you that there appear to be multiple casualties, but we were able to save the woman you saw this evening. Now please, we need statements, do you need a ride to the station or-“

“No we have a car,” Strike butted in. “Let’s go, Robin.” Strike turned away and headed back down the driveway; Robin stood a moment longer, looking at the peaceful house, on a quiet street and wondered what horrors went on behind closed doors. Finally she turned and followed after. 

They got into the Rover and headed back to Scotland Yard. Strike pulled out his phone and started searching through his contacts. 

“Who are you calling?” She asked as she maneuvered the now dark streets of London. 

“Wardle, going to give him a heads up, we aren’t giving our statement to anyone else.”

### 

Strike and Robin arrived at the precinct and let the officer in front know why they were there, they were lead back to a small room with a table and four chairs. The officer was kind enough to fetch the some coffee, as awful as it was. 

“Wardle said it might be a bit before he can get here, but he said he would notify Quade that he was taking over the case as DI.”

Robin nodded. They sat in silence, choking down their instant coffee, unsure of what else to do. 

“Right,” Strike said after a long while, “Let’s go over what we’ve got: we got an anonymous tip stating that Mr. O’Malley was up to no good, and that he was going to do something tonight and we were to follow him, he was going to be a paying customer and so we decided to take on the job.” Robin nodded “We found his place of work, his schedule for the day and followed him starting around 16:45. When and where did you see him, Robin? What did he do when he left work?”

“I ran over the bridge, stood across the street from his office, stretching, waiting for him to come out then I saw, I saw...shit.” Images of Matthew and Sarah and her stomach came flooding back. In all the excitement of the evening she had nearly forgotten. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Why was she crying? She didn’t love Matthew anymore, she wasn’t jealous, was she?

“Robin? Robin? What’s wrong?” Strike hesitated, he wanted to put his arm around her, comfort her, he knew what they had been through today was a lot, it must all be hitting her now, he thought. 

“I...I saw Matthew outside,” she managed to gulp out, “and Sarah, and, shit,” it seemed so much worse to say it out loud, seemed to make it real, “she’s pregnant.”

Strike stared back a her, at a loss for words. He found it slightly amusing that someone being pregnant was the worst part of Robin’s day, but realized it hit much closer to home than whatever was down in that basement. Had he not felt the same way when he found out Charlotte was actually pregnant? He may have spilt beer instead of tears, but it hurt just the same. 

“Fuck, Robin. Are you sure? Maybe she’s just getting fat.” He smiled at her, hoping to lighten the mood. 

She let out a little laugh, “I was hoping that too, but he lovingly rubbed her stomach, something I don’t think she would appreciate if she were just getting fat.” Robin took a deep breath. The joke seemed to calm her nerves momentarily. “She looked like she was three or four months along...Cormoran, that means she was pregnant at the wedding.” Tears welled back up in her eyes. “What was he going to do? Marry me and have a child with her?” Robin realized the anger that she was feeling was at herself. She was mad that she was so stupid to go back to him, to think that he had changed. She should have never put that ring back on, she was such an idiot. The tears fell earnestly from her eyes as her shoulders shook. 

This time Strike didn’t hesitate, he moved his chair closer and wrapped Robin in his arms, he knew that feeling of betrayal, of self loathing, of wondering how you could be so blind to what was right in front you. Slowly Robin’s shoulder’s stopped shaking, and her breathing slowed. Strike rested his chin on her head, still holding her to him, but waiting for her to pull back. 

Robin readily welcomed the hug from Strike. It had been a month since anyone had hugged her besides her mother on her suppose to be wedding day. Strike was warm, and strong and smelt of smoke, which was oddly comforting, she normally detested the smell, but on him, it seemed right. Slowly her silent sobs turned into whimpers as she continue to let him hold her close. At some point his chin had come to rest on her head, and her hand had found his chest, his heart beating strong and slow below her palm. For a moment the last twelve hours were forgotten, and she was not sitting in an interrogation room waiting to retrace their steps that day.

“Robin,” Strike finally said, he wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep or not. 

His voice had pulled her out of her post cry daze and she sat up just far enough to look at him. They stared at each other for a moment before Robin sat up all the way, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. 

“Sorry,” she said looking up through wet lashes. “That was really unprofessional, and poor timing. Should have saved that for my pillow tonight.” She smiled awkwardly at him, blushing. 

He felt bad that she didn’t think she could talk to him. While he wasn’t great at opening up to her, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being there for her. Not that he enjoyed her needing a shoulder to cry on, but if she did, he wanted it to be his. “Nonsense, Robin. It’s been a trying day for the both of us, and seeing them like that, well that’s just icing on the cake, now isn’t it?” 

She nodded slowly, still unsure. 

“Look, I think we’ve been through enough together, seen each other at some low moments that there is no reason to apologize. I’ll always be there for you Robin, always.” He gave her a small smile that she returned as the door to the room opened and Wardle strode in, unzipping his leather jacket. 

“Sorry it took so long,” he said, looking from Robin to Strike and back to Robin. “You alright, love?”

Robin nodded and accepted the box of tissues that’s Wardle had gone out to retrieve. “Thanks.”

“Rough day.” Wardle said, more as a statement than a question. “You two stumbled on quite a doozy. Care to share?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to bust this out while the LO was taking a nap. I read over several times but there’s probably still a mistake or two. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy and comments are always appreciated :)


	10. Wardle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike exchange information with Wardle. Who has the more surprising story to tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets gross, sorry... but if you watch TV at all you’ve probably seen worse on cable TV on a nightly basis. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Robin and Strike went over all of their information in amazing detail, at least what they felt like they could share with Wardle that wouldn’t constitute “going to the police.” 

They informed him that they had received an anonymous tip about O’Malley and that they would be getting paid if the tip was legitimate. They retraced their footsteps, leaving out photographs, chasing a lense through the bushes and, of course, Matthew. 

The final moments of their stake out were recounted individually, Strike telling how he started to go down the stairs, Robin how she fought off O’Malley. Wardle listened in awe of it all. He had grown fond of the two of them, as fond as one can with one’s competition. 

“Bloody hell.” Wardle rubbed his face. “So you didn’t see anything that was in the basement?” He asked Strike. 

“No, just bits and pieces.”

Wardle snorted. “You have no idea. Be right back.” He stood and left the room. 

Robin had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at Wardles response, and saw grim lines drawn on Strike’s face as well.

Wardle returned holding a file folder with what appeared to be large photographs. “Forensics finished up photophraphing the scene, got the prints here.” He looked at Robin, pale faced and red eyed. “You sure you want to look at this? Most disturbing thing I’ve seen, I think anyone here has seen.”

Robin nodded, “I was sent two body parts. At least these are just photos.” 

Wardle shrugged and handed them the folder. 

Strike opened up to the first photo, showing the top of the stairs, they proceeded like snipettes of a movie, down the stairs, bottom of the stairs. To the left a metal medical table on wheels, like one from a corners office. On the wall hung multiple power tools, all glistening in the harsh overhead light. To the right specimen jars, the liquid was cloudy but they seemed to have body parts. Robin gasped at the close up images: a jar of eyes, a jar of teeth, a jar of ears. The parts were too numerous to count and some of the jars seemed quite filled. The instant coffee turned over in her stomach. 

Next were four large freezer chests, locks broken. The photo from above, looking down into the freezer showed the tops of seven heads, hair of varying color, but all covered in frost that gave them an unreal quality. The next photo was of the first head. Frosty black hair fell past where the neck ended, the eyes and ears were missing. Dark holes stared back through the photograph.

Robin gasped and a string of profanity escaped Strike. They continued to flip through the photos. The remaining freezer chests were filled with the remaining body parts: a chests of torsos, of arms, of legs, all just jumbled together. 

“What the fuck?” Strike flipped over the last photo. Robin sat stunned into silence, pale and trembling. Strike pushed the envelope away from them, back towards Wardle. 

“How many?”

Wardle let out a long breath. “We think seven, the girl you saved would have been number eight. There were seven heads in the freezer, we think seven torsos and matching limbs, but we have to get everything down to the medical examiner. They are bringing in two more from outside jurisdictions just to help. We aren’t sure if there are past victims, there were a lot of jars down there, and as you mentioned he didn’t always live here _and_ he has two other houses. We are getting warrants to search the other properties. It’s a damn good thing you broke into this house and not us, all off this would have been inadmissible in the court since there was no warrant.

“We’ve started going through missing persons reports. We think he may haven been doing this for a while, some of the bodies seem… older. And we haven’t suddenly had seven women go missing… You don’t have any idea who this anonymous caller was?” Wardle asked again, probably for the ninth time. .

“No, sorry mate. I wish we did. No idea how he knew what O’Malley was up to… unless O’Malley called us himself and actually wanted to be caught, but the voice didn’t match. The caller had a light, chipper voice.”

“Any word from him since this went down?”

Robin and Strike frowned, they suppose they would have to be in contact with him again. “No.”

“Well he’s a bloody hero, alerting someone to this bastards activities.”

Robin nodded, but Strike hesitated, he wasn’t so sure, something just didn’t seem right, didn’t seem to add up. 

“Like a Robin Hood, but he finds criminals instead of stealing from the rich.” Robin seemed to perk up a bit. Maybe seeing the Fan as an ally in the quest for justice was her way of coping with what they had just seen. Strike supposed that maybe they should be happy. There is nothing they could do about his past victims, but they did save a woman’s life tonight, and who knows how many other women by getting him off the streets. 

Wardle nodded at her, “Right, so I expect the two of you to keep this under wraps. I’ll share with you what I can, and I expect the same if you get any more information about the tipper. If you do talk to him again, let him know he can come to us, this really isn’t something a PI should be handling, no offense.” He smiled and shrugged at the two of them.

“Right, I agree.” While a small part of Strike found this exciting, the rest of him noted he had too much to lose, he had Robin now, he thought to himself. _What does that even mean?_ He glanced over to her, she looked pale and small, and thought about the implication. Did he finally care what happened to him because of how it would affect her? He continued to stare, unsure what this revelation was leading to. He obviously didn’t want her to get hurt, but would she not be hurt if something happened to him? What would happen if he wasn’t there to protect her? _You twat, when have you ever been there to protect her?_ Under his watch she had had her heart broken, her head concussed, her arm sliced open, and he managed to fire her. Good lord, why did she stick around?

He tried to swallow but found his mouth dry, then his paper coffee cup empty.

“Well it’s quite late,” Wardle said, looking at his watch. “Please call if you think of anything.” He stood and shook both of their hands. “I’ve got a briefing to get to. We’ll be in touch.”

Wardle left them and they sat for a few moments in silence, still trying to wrap their heads around what had transpired in the last twelve or so hours. 

Robin sat and stared at the bandages on her knuckles and tried to process everything. She had punched a serial killer in the face. She _punched_ a _serial killer_ in the face. There were freezers full of body parts in the basement. They saved a woman’s life tonight. She was ok. Strike was ok. She glanced over to him and found him staring back at her. 

“What?”

“You ok?” His voice sounded hoarse and dry. 

“No,” she whispered back. “Yes. I don’t know.” She shook her head. She looked at him, almost asking him what she should be feeling. 

He ran a large hand over his face, “The office, your flat or Trottenham?” He checked his watch, it was nearly twelve in the morning. He desperately needed a strong drink, not only to de-stress but likely to get any sleep that night. 

“I’m exhausted.” She thought she saw a hint of disappointment on Strikes face. “I think Matthew left a bottle of whisky at the flat.” She tried to smile at him but just couldn’t muster the energy.

“Right, lets find a cab.” He stood and offered his hand to help her up, and lead her out the door with his hand on the small of her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry short chapter, next one is about the same length... finally found some time to type! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I’m loving everyone’s work right now you guys keep it up!
> 
> Also did you see JKR tweet recently? Gonna give us the release date soon!!


	11. Whisky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike head home for the night, trying to process the day’s events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick one. Should be back in action, getting these posted a little bit more frequently than it did over the last little stretch. Thanks for hanging in there!

Twenty minutes later Robin was pouring two fingers into glasses she had fished out of the back of the cabinet. She set the drinks and bottled down on the coffee table, scooped up her glass and curled into a ball in the corner of the couch. She took a large sip and winced as it burned her esophagus. 

Strike sat down in the opposite corner, reaching for his drink. “Oi, Robin this is expensive whisky, are you sure Matthew won’t be upset?” Not that he thought Robin cared what Matthew thought, he didn’t want her to get into a fight over hundred pound whiskey. 

“Well considering he was partially to blame for me needing this, I don’t really give a hoot.” She took another sip and started coughing. “I should pour the rest down the drain.”

“Yea, no need for that! Happy to take the bottle off you.” For a moment, just a millisecond, Strike forgot why he was here, and was able to form half a smile.

Robin simply stared back at him. “Cormoran, what happened today?”

Seriousness crept over his face, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands and drink hanging between them. “Fuck, Robin, I don’t know.” 

They both sat staring at their hands, Cormoran’s large and calloused, Robin’s pale and bandaged. She wasn’t sure if they should try to go over everything now, while it was still fresh, or try to tackle everything once they had gotten a few hours of sleep, not that she thought that would come easy, at least for her, she was quite sure Strike could sleep anywhere, at any time. 

Robin’s eyes felt heavy as the liquor seeped into her stomach, she tried to stifle a yawn, but she failed to hide it from Strike. 

“Let’s get you to bed Robin, today has been utterly exhausting.” He threw the rest of his drink back, and stood up.

She looked up at him, her mind slowing due to the booze and fatigued. “Please don’t go,” she said looking up at him, the words leaving her mouth before her brain knew what she was saying. 

He smiled and helped her up, “My bed is going to get jealous.” He held her hand a second longer than necessary before looking away. “I’ll stay, you go get ready, I’ll get the couch pulled out.” 

Robin nodded and wandered into the bathroom. No sooner had Strike started taking the pillows off the couch than heard retching coming from the bathroom. His first instinct was to run in and help her, but knew, like him, she would prefer to pretend like he couldn’t hear her. However, he also knew that if it were him, when he opened the bathroom door a glass of water and alka seltzer tablets would be sitting on the other side. 

Strike abandoned the couch and moved into the kitchen, filling a glass from the tap and found the shelf of remedies. He smiled slightly at the thought of all the times she had nursed his hang over or bum knee back to health. What would he do without that woman?

He wandered back to the bathroom door, listening for signs that she was still sick. He knocked lightly, “Robin? Are you alright? I’ve got water and alka seltzer, would you like it now, or should I leave it for you?”

Robin groaned as she rested her head on her arms, the damn expensive whisky did not taste any better coming back up than the cheap stuff. She needed to take a shower, she needed to go to sleep. She needed to go to sleep. Sleep. Right. Now. Robin began to doze while sitting on the floor, next to the toilet. Her head in her arms, her arms on her drawn up knees. She could faintly hear Strike on the other side of the door, but her brain couldn’t muster the energy to comprehend what he said, let alone formulate an answer. 

Strike knocked again, “Robin?” With still no answer he decided that it was of her best interest that he check on her. “Robin, I’m coming in, just want to make sure you’re alright.” Slowly he cracked open the door and saw her sleeping next to the loo. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t fallen asleep at least once in the same location, but he was usually alone to lick his own wounds the next morning. 

He set the water and tablets on the sink and did his best to kneel down next to her. He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered her name. Slowly she roused and looked at him. “Cormoran…”

“Come on now, this is no place to sleep, up with you, brush your teeth, and take the tablets.” How many times had he been in the same situation, but for much less valid reasons, namely Charlotte. He helped her up, brushed some hair out of her face and gave her arm a light squeeze. Strike waited as Robin choked down the alka seltzer then left her to finish getting ready for bed. 

Robin re-emerged in a robe, her hair was up in a messy bun and her face was slightly less pale. Strike had gotten the couch open and was remaking the bed from the pile of sheets he had folded that morning. How had that been less than twenty four hours ago? “Feeling any better?” He asked sincerely. 

She nodded. She stared at the fold out couch and a very small voice in the back of her mind leapt forward: _Invite him to bed._ This thought however was immediately followed by _Pathetic._ He shouldn’t even be staying there, and now she needed him to what? Cuddle her? Rock her to sleep? What kind of lousy partner was she? She knew none of his past colleagues needed coddling, nor would a formally trained partner. She thought she had been doing so well, and now he was spending the night at her flat to keep her safe, she cried like an emotional teenager over Matthew, she threw up after seeing those photos. _Pathetic_ she thought again. 

“Robin, I just want you to know, you did amazing today.” Her eyes widened, it was like he could read her mind. “The last two days have been absolutely insane. I think this might even top the Laing case, and you, you’ve been great through all this. I know you might not feel like it, but the fact that you aren’t running for the hills is a testament to how committed you are. Couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

She thought she was going to start crying again. “I’m glad you think so, but-“

He held up a hand to cut her off. “No buts about it. If you think for one second I wouldn’t have abandon my post if I had seen Charlotte pregnant that soon after our break up and headed straight to a pub you're crazy. And then you beat up a man that had at least three stone on you? You got spunk kid.” He smiled warmly at her. “Just because I’m emotionally broken in every sense of the word doesn’t mean that it’s unacceptable to feel things.”

Robin nodded at him, unsure what to say. 

“We will get this all sorted out in the morning. I think my brain is too tired to comprehend anything at this point. Goodnight, Robin.”

“Goodnight,” Robin wandered into her room, shut the door and collapsed on to her bed. She prayed for a dreamless night. 

Strike sat down heavily on the creaky mattress and began undressing. _Maybe I should start keeping clothes here._ He shook his head, that was rather presumptuous of him. Strike knew he needed to get some sleep, but he ran through everything in his mind quickly: The Fan somehow knew about O’Malley, alerted them to it. He and Robin had found a serial killer with a basement full of frozen bodies. He was spending another night at Robin’s flat. He hoped this was the only investigation they would have to do for the Fan, but he suspected that this David fellow was far from done with them. 

Strike laid back on the pillows that still smelled slightly of Robin and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots to deal with! Lots to think about! 
> 
>  
> 
> Also this may be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t have anyone else to discuss this with, I’m still pretty disappointed in the show, just finished CoE part 1. I love the actors and what not, but all of my favorite moments, the ones that I go back and re-read when I’m bored, just seem so different and it makes me sad... oh well...
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways back to our versions of their story... haha. 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed!  
> Comments welcome!


	12. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike have breakfast and get an unexpected call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler, fluff chapter. Wasnt really sure where I was going with if for a moment there, but I think it turned out all right! Hope you enjoy!

Robin’s eyes opened slowly to bright sunshine flooding through her open curtains. She cursed herself for not shutting them last night. She lifted her face off her drool stained pillow and looked down at herself as her brain slowly pieced everything together, one fact at a time: She was wearing a robe. It didn’t feel like she was wearing anything else. She was laying on top of her comforter. She smelled…coffee. And eggs. It was Saturday. Why was Matthew cooking breakfast? No. Not Matthew. Cormoran. Cormoran was here. 

Then it all came crashing down like a cold bucket of ice water. She felt her stomach turn again, but had nothing in it to come up. She sat up and swayed a little, placing her hand on her forehead as the ache set in. She found a glass of water and some paracetamol sitting on her night stand. She blushed slightly thinking that Cormoran had come into the room while she was sleeping in only a robe, she knew, however, that he would have turned right around if she had been indecent. 

She threw the pills back and washed them down with a large gulp. The cool water sitting in her stomach already helped her feel a bit better. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the fog that was thick and dense around her mind. She went to her closet to throw on some leggings and a jumper, she fixed her hair in the mirror and took a deep breath. _Well this is it, time to face the music._ She opened the door and walked through the living room, where she found a couch and some folded sheets, into the kitchen. 

Sunlight streamed through the back kitchen windows and danced on the small kitchen table. Strike stood large by the stove, a skillet and a spatula in his hand. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was he humming? She stared at him dumbfounded. If he had been there for any other reason than why he was there, it would have been a picturesque scene, Robin could have easily walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. But he was there because they found a bunch of frozen bodies last night. Why was he humming?

Robin cleared her throat, “Good morning.”

“Morning, Robin. Fancy some eggs?” 

What was going on?

“Erm, are you alright, Cormoran?” She asked as she sat down at the small kitchen table that had already been set with plates, silverware and a steaming cup of coffee. 

He smiled at her knowingly, “Wardle called this morning. O’Malley confessed to everything. Seven bodies at the Kensington house, three in Devon. He had started up in Manchester when he was twenty-five. Had five victims there before he got caught mid-capture with his would be sixth victim. He was already working for Redfield, Hayes and Kent, and was caught by his driver. They of course thought it was _only_ sexual assault, so the higher ups paid off the driver, the woman and moved him to London. They did make him start seeing a therapist though. Went every Tuesday. Loads good that did.”

“Fifteen victims?” Robin swallowed hard. _Fifteen?_ She stared down at the table setting, trying to wrap her head around it. 

“Robin, we put away a very bad man.”

Slowly her eyes drifted up to his. He smiled kindly at her, trying to get her to see how big of a deal this was. He had killed fifteen women, and they had put him away in one night. One night! And he confessed, so even if he got a plea deal, it would be, what one hundred year sentence instead of three hundred? There was no way this man was ever going to get out of prison. 

“You’re right, we did.” She managed a smile as she turned this new information over in her head. Fifteen over the course of thirty years. That’s about one every two years. No wonder no one would have suspected him. And if he jumped from place to place? No one would have connected that many missing girls over that long a period. “How did David know though?” Her brow furrowed as The Fan resurfaced in her mind. 

Strike frowned, he knew they would need to find out the answer to that question, but it seemed doubtful that David would share that information with them. Strike lifted the skillet off the stove and scrapped some scrambled eggs onto Robin’s plate, then his before topping both plates with bacon. 

“Eat, Robin. It will make you feel better, think better.” Strike sat down across from her and dug into his plate. 

Robin moved some eggs around with her fork before taking a bite. He was right, she needed to eat. As the grease and meat slowly filled her stomach she began to feel like her head was on straight again. Her coffee was soul-awakening. 

“Thank you, Cormoran, for breakfast, for all of this.” She sighed, “I do feel bad you’ve been sleeping on a pull out these last two nights, and not at your own flat.”

“First off, you know I can sleep anywhere. And that couch is much more comfortable than about seventy percent of the places I’ve slept.” He gave her his knowing smirk as they still pretend like he wasn’t sleeping in his office when they first met. “Secondly, and now doing go getting offended, but I’m sleeping much better knowing that you’re not here alone. And lastly,” he continued before she could say anything, “I like having someone to cook breakfast for, makes the whole getting up thing more enjoyable.” 

Robin blushed slightly into her coffee. “Well thanks anyways,” she tried to wave of the flutter in her chest at the thought of him wanting to make her breakfast, and the sting of jealousy that he would want to make it for someone else. She sighed. 

“Would you mind if we went back to the office to work? I know it’s Saturday, but I think we have a lot to review, I need to pop up to my flat as well.”

“Yes, of course, I do have a few apartment viewings this afternoon,” she paused, “Would you like to come with me?” She knew he would want to see them anyways, this way they could continue to discuss that case and she could show any future roommates that she had a rather intimidating friend. 

“Of course.” He smiled as she cleaned away their plates. While he knew she hated how over protective he was, he truly appreciated that she let him be that way. He had learned to keep his distance some what, he didn’t need to walk her to and from the tube station or anything ridiculous like that, but she let him care, and worry. He would never want anyone to get hurt on his account, but god, if something happened to Robin, he didn’t know what he would do. It would be like losing his mother all over again. Fuck. 

“Cormoran?” Robin was looking down at him, slowly his gaze drifted from the spot on the table he had been staring at up to her face, cataloging her curves and grace on the way. “You’ve gone quite, and you have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re thinking too hard.” She laughed at him when he looked at her in confusion. 

She looked so beautiful standing there: leggings, jumper, messy hair. The sun streaming through the window did nothing but excentuate her goddess like appearance. Every fiber of him screamed to stand, scoop her up in his arms and bury his face in her hair. He, however, did no such thing. “Sorry,” he coughed, looking up at her. 

Something in her stomach churned again, but this was light and delightful. Her hand itched to reach out and touch his face. He looked at her in a way she couldn’t quite describe, or admit to herself. She stared back at him, a heart beat longer than she should have, feeling color creep its way up her neck, on to her cheeks. “I should -“ 

Robin was cut off by the loud ring of mobile that she had set on the kitchen counter. She looked at Strike before picking it up, assuming it would be her mother. 

_UNKNOWN_

She showed the screen to Strike as he hurriedly got his mobile out to record the conversation.

“Hello?” Robin answered pleasantly while putting the speaker phone on. 

“Well good morning Miss Ellacott! Is Cormoran there with you? Ha! Ha! Of course he is! You two were busy, busy last night! Excellent job! Truly! I just wanted to call and congratulate! Oh I am just so happy!”

Robin and Strike stared at the phone as exaggerated complements continue to come forth. 

“Er-thanks. Thank you for the tip, Mr… er-David. We were glad to get someone like him off the street.” Robin shrugged, this was all new territory. Strike nodded at her and she continued to talk. “Mr...er, David, how did you know about Mr. O’Malley?”

“Oh dear girl, how does that matter at this point? You got him! Ends and means and all that, right? Your bill has been paid in full, it’s waiting for you at the office, I do still want a full write up, I mean that’s part of the package right? Oh I cannot wait to read it.” He sounded down right giddy. 

“Well thank you, David, we appreciate timely payments.” Robin wasn’t sure where to go next.

“David, mate, come on now, give us a little info so we can write up a good report. Check your sources?”

There was silence. 

“David?” Robin chimed in.

“I am the source.” He said flatly. Something had shifted significantly in his voice. “My tip paid off, did it not? You will be getting plenty of business now, thanks to me. The great Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott, once again solving crimes where the police were incompetent. Congratulations. Be in touch. Ta.”

The call ended and both Robin and Strike sat in silence. Strike turned off the record function on his mobile and continued to stare at Robin’s laying on the table. 

“Have you ever…”

“No,” he replied. This was unlike anything he had ever dealt with and he did not like it at all. He heaved himself up and turned back to the stove where the empty skillet sat. “Why don’t you go get ready, I’ll clean up, we can head to the office and try to figure this all out.”

Robin nodded and wordlessly walked back to the bathroom to get ready for weekend work. _What did David want from them?_ She asked her self as she got ready. This all seemed so elaborate and odd for a case that seemed so open and shut. Why did he contact them, what was his deal with Strike? As questions continued to stream through her mind she was left with one hovering over them all: did they really want to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does he want?! Will he bother them again?! Continue reading for more!
> 
>  
> 
> Comments are always appreciated and welcomed!! Hope everyone is still enjoying :)


	13. Mr. Meckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin find out some interesting information!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, life has been insanely busy. I'm not sure if it's going to slow down any time soon but I will do my best, I promise I have not abandoned this work. Also thank you to everyone who keeps posting. Your stories are amazing and they truely brighten my day!

Robin spun around in Strike’s desk chair as they reviewed all of the information again. Her head was already dizzy from all of the unknowns in the equation. They had cleared the wall behind Strike’s desk to start an evidence board for ‘The Fan’. Robin had been pinning up pictures and post it notes while Strike sat and wrote up his report for David. They had received his payment this morning, as David said they would, so Strike felt obligated to finish the job. 

Cormoran read through their information one last time. He sat perched on the edge of the desk, watching Robin spin slowly out of the corner of his eye. 

“David, AKA The Fan, has some previous connection to me, however we don’t know from where. I don’t recognize his voice, but that doesn’t mean much. He is also connected to O’Malley somehow, he knew that he was going to try to take another victim last night. Maybe a confidant? A clergyman? Psychiatrist? Wardle did say he was in therapy somewhere, however thanks to Patient-Doctor Confidentiality there is no way for us to get that information. Wardle may have better luck.”

“If a doctor is worried a patient is an eminent threat to themselves or another they are allowed to break the confidentiality. They are actually obligated to tell someone, and can be held accountable if they failed to do so.” Robin managed to spit out in one turn of the chair. 

Strike hummed in agreement. He agreed that it would be odd for a psychiatrist to know this an not get him committed. However, how likely was he to tell the therapist why he was really sent there? They thought he was there for attempted sexual assault, which he likely played into, much more _normal_ than admitted to killing and dismembering people. 

“There could be someone at his old job, or new job that did actually know what he was up to. He knows who your are, Robin, and Matthew worked with O’Malley, it’s a little far reaching but there could be a connection there. I wonder if anyone else got transferred.”

“I promise you Matthew has no part in this, at least not knowingly. He has the imagination of a goldfish and a morally straight compass… except when it comes to cheating. I’m sure if anyone told him anything remotely like this he would have gone screaming to the bosses.” Another turn, “but I will speak with him.”

“There’s also the woman who escaped, while she was paid off she could have known what was going to happen to her, and she wanted to seek revenge.”

“It was nine years ago.”

“Yes, and I offended Donald Laing a long time ago too, didn’t stop him.” 

Strike’s mobile began to ring, they both froze in trepidation. Slowly he leaned over to check the caller ID and swept it up when he saw that it was Wardle. 

“Strike,” Wardle said on the other line. Strike put the speaker on so Robin could hear the conversation. “Just wanted to let you know some more information, see if you can make any heads or tails of it… it will be coming out tomorrow in a press conference, we can’t keep this under wraps forever.” Robin took out a pen and paper. “The last three victims were killed in the last six months. First was in January, then in May, then June, and the woman you saved would have been July. He was picking up frequency.” Wardle sighed. “Listen, we are going to try our best to keep you out of this, but its gonna come out, mate. Just be ready.”

“Thanks,” Strike said. “Look, any way you could tell us where O’Malley was getting therapy or who any of the victims were? Or who the victim who got away was in Manchester?”

“We are still working on that. His therapist is...umm,” they could hear some chatter on the other line. “Is at Barts, we are working on all the legal mumbo jumbo now.”

“Thanks, Wardle.”

Strike turned to look at Robin who had stopped spinning around in his chair. She sighed. “I’m going to go call Matthew. Set up a lunch or something.”

Strike nodded, “We still need to head over to the office space across the way, I’ll call the landlord, see if we can have a look.”

“We have apartment hunting at two, if you still want to come, that is.”

Strike smiled warmly at her, and she took that as affirmation. She smiled slightly back and lifted herself from his chair. “Do you want to call Matthew for me?” she whined. Strike laughed at her as she hung her head in dramatic defeat. “Fine, I’ll do it myself!” she dramatically stomped out of his office.

She walked out of his office and scooped her mobile off her desk. She swallowed hard and felt her heartbeat pick up pace. She found Matthew in her contact list, having been removed from the _Favorites_ section. That was now limited to Mum, Dad, her brothers and Strike. How sad, she thought briefly. 

As the line began to ring she stepped out onto the landing and sat on the stairs. Part of her prayed he wouldn’t pick up, but she knew that as soon as he saw it was her he would excuse himself from whatever he was doing and take the call. 

“Robin? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Matthew asked quickly.

“Nothing is wrong, Matthew.” She was already annoyed with his patronizing questions. “Has anything happened at work today?”

“Yes it’s absolutely crazy here. Mr. O’Malley, do you remember him? I think I introduced him at a party? He’s been arrested, there are all kind of crazy rumors flying…” Matthew went silent. “Did you have anything to do with this?” The excitement in his voiced had changed to wariness. 

“We need to talk. Can you meet me for lunch today? At that thai place? It’s between your work and mine.” Robin paused waiting for Matthew to agree. “It’s very important Matthew.”

“So that was you I saw running.”

“Matthew, I need to speak to you. It is of the utmost importance. Strike and I might be in danger, and you could help us. Help me.”

“Alright, alright. Twelve o’clock.”

“Thank you,” Robin sighed. 

“Just you?” Matthew asked warily. 

“Yes, just me.” Robin bit back. She rolled her eyes at him, wondering how she could have ever loved him.  
“Right, see you at twelve.”

“See you.”

Robin was still sitting on the stairs when Strike came out of the office, trying to hide the slight panic of not knowing where she went on his face. 

“There you are! We can head over to the flat across the way now if you’ve the time. Just got off the phone with the landlord.”

“Yea, alright. I am meeting Matthew at noon at that Thai place down the way.” 

Strike offered her a hand up, “We can check out the flat, then I’ll walk you to the tube.”

Normally Robin would have protested, but she wasn’t in the mood to fight with Strike, nor did she think it was a terrible idea to keep him a long. 

They wound their way around the metal staircase and around the block to the building that had windows facing Strike’s office. 

“I may have told him we were interested in renting the place,” Strike said as he pressed the buzzer. “Didn't think he’d let us in if we started accusing him of letting peeping toms in the flat.”

Robin nodded in agreement. A sudden chill traveled down her spine as she thought about the fact that they were about to stand where a clearly psychotic man stood and took pictures of her in her knickers. 

The door buzzed open and they made their way up to the second floor. Strike enviously eyed a working elevator, but his knee wasn’t bothering him much so they made the trek up one flight of stairs. 

“Hello!” said a jovial older gentleman with rosy red cheeks and wispy white hair. “Mr. and Mrs. Strike I presume? I’m Mr. Meckles”

“I-er-uh” Strike stammered, he guessed when he told the man him and his “partner” were coming over he should have clarified more.

Robin smiled brightly, “Yes! How do you do?” She extended a hand, which he took and shook gently. Strike stared down at her, taking the moment in stride. 

“Come in! Come in! Take a look around!” He ushered them through the door, and began his grand tour of the office space. 

Robin ran her hand along the wall as they followed Mr. Meckles farther into the office. He was listing off the benefits of this space, but she wasn’t listening, she knew Strike was, taking in every detail, every word, every syllable. _You were here, just days ago...what do you want?_ she thought to herself as she stood, facing the windows that faced Strike’s office. In the bright daylight it was difficult to see through to the other side, but on a dark dreary day, with lights on across the alley, it would be quite easy to see inside Strike’s office. Robin wrapped her arms around herself. She was lost in thought when Strike came up behind her, startling her out of her daydream. 

“So what is it that you to do?” Mr. Meckles asked joining them in the large open space. 

“Photography,” Robin answered absentmindedly, “mostly couples.”

Strike snorted, she wasn’t lying. A lot of their work was photography, and of mostly couples. 

“Very interesting, I had a fellow in here just a few days ago who was a photographer, had his camera and everything! He took a few photos, trying to see if the lighting would be right. He seemed very pleased. These large windows do let in wondrous natural light!”

Robin and Strike froze as the words fell out of his mouth. Could he have been so bold?

“Do you have his name? Or could you tell us what he looks like?” Robin asked. 

“I’m afraid not my dear, that’s confidential information. I don’t go around sharing people’s personal information like that.” He said happily. 

“Look, let me be straight with you, Mr. Meckles.” Strike cleared his throat. “This man has been stalking my wife, taking photographs of her,” he pulled the photo of Robin in her bra and panties out of his pocket and showed it to the older man. “He took this photo from this room, from this window. We don’t know who he is, but we need to find out so we can stop him. Please. I’m worried he’s going to hurt her.” 

Robin stared up at Strike, there was so much anguish in that last sentence, so much desperation. 

“Oh my!” Mr. Meckles’ face turned an even deeper shade of red as he handed the picture back to Strike. “I-I am so sorry! Yes, let me go get his card.” The man hurried out of the office space and returned moments later with a business card:

_David Davidson_   
_Photographer_   
_+44 20 5555 3456_

Strike showed the card to Robin, and she looked deflated, it was obviously a fake number. 

“I don’t think this is his real name,” Strike told him, “Can you tell us what he looked like? Please?”

Mr. Meckles shut his eyes as if to conjure the image of the man claiming to be a photographer. “He was tall, skinny, white, dark brown hair, brown eyes. Thick eyebrows, a mole on his cheek, I think. Very happy, friendly man.” He opened his eyes, “Are you sure that’s the right man?”

“Positive,” Strike said reaching into his pants pocket. “Please, if he contacts you, or if he comes back, please call us right away.” Strike handed him his card and an one hundred pound note. “Please.”

“Yes of course, you don’t have to, I will call-”

“It’s alright,” Strike shook Mr. Meckles hand, “we appreciate your time and help. Good day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Meckles,” Robin hugged the man, kissing him on the cheek as they left the flat. 

He stood in the doorway watching them descend the stairs.

“Nice touch,” Strike said, giving her a side long glance. 

“Thanks.” Robin held her head high as she walked out onto the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Not a lot of Robin/Strike development, but lots of things going on!
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking with me!
> 
> Also i dont know how to do a fake number in england... in the US its always 555-555-1234 or something like that, so I tried.... forgive me...


End file.
